


REVITALIZE

by PureProse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Coping, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Healer Hermione Granger, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love, Medical, Post-War, Psychological Drama, Realistic, References to Depression, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-03-30 21:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19035847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PureProse/pseuds/PureProse
Summary: /riːˈvʌɪt(ə)lʌɪz/Verb: to give new life or vigor to.A story that examines trauma, and the slow, tedious processes of healing.After finishing her 8th year at Hogwarts Hermione leaves Britain to study healing in Italy. The year is 2002 and she’s returned back to England for the first time in three years. Hermione is starting her first trainee year at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. At the end of her first shift, he arrives, and magic does not seem to be enough to save him.-------------------She came back. Back to Britain, back to the life she’d left behind. Back to her home, or what was left of it. Back to her friends, that she had not spoken to in far too long. Back to everything she’d fled from, years prior. She came back so that perhaps one day she’d be able to move forward.





	1. Away With the Fairies

**Monday, 5th of August 2002**

That morning, Hermione woke up earlier than usual. The sky was dark, and most souls were still running wild in their dreams. The gentle breeze from the open window beside her bed made chills run down her spine. She closed the window and turned over to face the blank wall. She huddled into the covers and tried in vain to fall asleep again. Hermione’s mind kept racing no matter what calming techniques she tried. Giving up on sleep, she took a deep breath, sighed, and heaved herself up from the mattress.

The floor was ice cold under her bare feet, and she quickly walked to her bathroom. She turned the shower on and undressed from her grey, slip nightgown. The warm water running over her face made her feel a little better. She attempted to steady her beating heart. She was anxious. Yesterday, she’d arrived back in Britain for the first time in more than three years.

After finishing her education, Hermione had decided to start over somewhere new. She wanted a fresh start. Her memories from the war and all that had transpired haunted her too much to stay. She could not look at her friends without thinking about everything they’d all lost or seeing all the pain that surrounded her.

She’d fled to Italy to start over, enrolling at the  _Trotula Institute of Magical Healing_ in Salerno. Hermione threw herself into her studies, devoting every waking hour to learning about healing.

When she first left the Isle, she’d wanted to become a tranquil girl—someone who took walks on the beach under a waxing moon, someone who’d listen to the bird’s song and find beauty in it. 

She wanted to feel the world breathing around her, but she’d started living in her head like a madwoman locked in a tower instead. Hermione felt like she was hearing the wind howling through her hair, just waiting for someone to rescue her from her own mind and nightmares.

She knew she had a chance of creating a new life for herself, a good life, yet she could not muster the energy to live the life she had. When she had a free moment, she buried herself in fantastic stories, spending all her time living imaginary lives so unlike her own. Stories with happy endings.

Still, she was never able to escape the war--because even after it was over, it continued in her mind.

Hermione realized that no matter how far she ran, she could never run away from herself. No matter where she went, her memories and nightmares were still the same. After three years of healing school and distractions, she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life; it was time to take action and start figuring out the one she had.  

So… She came back. Back to Britain, back to the life she’d left behind. Back to her home, or what was left of it. Back to her friends, whom she had not spoken to in far too long. Back to everything she’d fled from, years prior. She came back so that perhaps one day she’d be able to move forward.

When Hermione got out of the shower, she toweled off quickly and began drying her hair with several charms. It was longer these days; the weight made the curls stretch out, leaving her hair more manageable. She began the task of gathering it in a French braid that snaked down her back, all the way down to her waist.

She glanced at her own reflection in the still dewy mirror and it was like she could see herself for the first time since she’d left. Her skin was pale, her eyes too large for her small face; two empty, dark pits engulfing the rest of her features. Her cheeks were hollow, and her gaze was tired. Her body was thin, plain, nearly flat. She looked much like a starved child. She hated the way she looked. Hated that her trauma was still written all over her features, all over her body. She hated that she couldn’t hide it. She knew that neither charms nor makeup would do the job. She turned away from the looking glass.

Walking back into her bedroom, she donned some simple underwear, a grey dress, stockings, and some loafers. She was set to start her trainee year at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries later that morning.

Hermione walked into her kitchen and poured some cat food into Crookshanks’ bowl. Opening the fridge, she retrieved the packed lunch she’d made the previous evening and put a charm on it to keep it cold before she put it in her purse. She poured herself some cereal and brewed a mug of coffee before heading over to the small kitchen table. She tried to take her time eating the meal one tiny piece of cereal at a time. After 20 minutes, both her bowl and mug were empty and it was still before 5 o’clock in the morning. She was not expected to be at the hospital for another hour.

A tapping from her window made her jump in her seat, and she turned to see a barn owl tapping the glass. She opened the window and paid the bird for the Prophet it brought.

She settled down once more and began reading. None of the pieces were of any interest to her, but still, she trudged on, trying to make time tick by faster so she could leave her tiny, quiet flat for the bustling magical hospital. 

* * *

 

Hermione’s eyes flickered around the room they were located in as the head healer - her new mentor, Hippocrates Smethwyck, welcomed that year’s ten new healer trainees to the program. Crystal bubbles full of candles floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds lighting the wards as they moved through the hospital. Smethwyck was a man in his mid 50’s. He seemed like a no-nonsense kind of mentor and she quickly found that she rather liked him.

 “A month ago, you were in school, learning the theory and perfecting healing spells. Today, you are the healers,” he said, eyeing them all with his piercing brown eyes. He prosed on.

“Once your training here is completed, in three years’ time, only four of you will remain. Statistically speaking two of you will break under the pressure, two will switch to easier specialties, and two will be asked to leave,” he continued. Hermione tried to bring her mind back into focus. She was distracted.

Once she’d arrived on the ground floor that morning, she’d quickly recognized a few of the faces in her group of new trainees. Theo Nott from her year at Hogwarts was present, as well as Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot. A Gryffindor from the year below her at school named Eloise Midgen was also there, as well as a few faces she’d seen before but couldn’t put a name to. A few completely new faces were also present; presumably, they’d gone to other magical schools.

Hermione followed behind the group as they continued on their tour of the hospital. So far, they’d seen the ground floor, which contained the Artefact Accident ward, the reception, and the Apparition Point. They’d been to the first floor that contained wards connected to Creature-Induced Injuries and the second floor that was dedicated to Magical Bugs, such as dragon pox and scrofungulus.

As they made it up to the third floor, an odd kind of odor filled the hall. It reminded her of Snape’s classroom at Hogwarts.

“This is the Potion and Plant Poisoning floor,” the healer told them, as he pushed two doors open to the corridor inside. The corridor was filled with different wards on either side. At the end of the hallway, a pair of swinging doors opened. exposing a potions lab.

“We usually cook up easy antidotes and the likes in here ourselves. We also use this room as a skills lab for you trainees. I suggest you use it as often as you have an opportunity!” Smethwyck told them.

The fourth floor was for Spell Damage victims. It also held the infamous Janus Thickey Ward – St. Mungo’s ward for long-term residents. Witches and wizards with permanent spell damage resided in this ward. She remembered the ward from her visit at St. Mungo’s during fifth-year, and it still looked much the same.

Hermione’s throat closed up as she caught sight of the once so beautiful Alice Longbottom sitting on a bed in her robe. Shaking her head, and averting her eye from the slumping figure, she tried to regain her wits.

They did not linger in the ward and made it to the final floor of the hospital.

A tearoom and a small gift shop were located on the fifth floor. Healer Smethwyck led them past the public areas and through a set of doors behind the cafeteria. They found themselves in a large locker room. The head healer pointed to four doors on the far wall.

“We have two on-call rooms for sleep.” He gestured to the doors farthest to the left.

“The other door in the middle leads to shower stalls and a lavatory.”

He gestured to the last door. “Staff kitchen and lunchroom through there, use it when you find the time. The tearoom here does not offer many options so I’d suggest you bring a packed lunch,” he said a bit grudgingly.

He left them there to wait for their new supervisors and they quickly changed from their own outer robes into the St. Mungo’s standard-issue green hospital robes they were required to wear. On her left breast lapel, the hospital emblem was embroidered in gold. It depicted a wand and bone, crossed.

The staff was allowed to wear their own clothing under the lime robes, though the clothes had to be modest and in neutral colors. Hermione’s knee-length, grey dress fit the bill perfectly. From her newly assigned locker, she retrieved her nameplate and fastened it on her right lapel. Finally, she transferred her wand from her outer robes to her hospital ones. She sat down on one of the many benches in the stuffy locker room and waited.

Suddenly, the door leading out to the public area swung open and two healers stepped in.

“Hi,” they both said with smiles on their faces as they caught sight of the trainees waiting.

“I’m Adrian Pucey, and this is Alica Spinnet,” Adrian introduced.

“We are third-year trainees here at St. Mungo’s and we will be in charge of you,” Spinnet added.

“We’ll divide you into two groups and be responsible for five each, if Eloise Midgen, Hannah Abbott, Terry Boot, Samuel Burbage, and Isobel MacDougal will come with me,” Spinnet droned and half the trainees got up and followed her out.

Pucey stayed in the room.

“Great,” he smiled. “That leaves me with Christina Yaxley, Rolf Cattermole, Theodore Nott, Herman Munter, and Hermione Granger.” He sat down across from them.

The five trainees looked at each other. Nott was the only one she knew in her group and she inwardly cursed at the fact that she had not been paired with either Abbott, Boot, or Midgen. She also vaguely remembered Pucey from school. He’d been two years ahead of her year at Hogwarts and, of course, Spinnet had played quidditch for the Gryffindor team.

“I have four rules and you will all memorize them! Rule number one. Don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you, that’s not likely to change for quite a while!” Pucey began, voice stern.  

“We use Patronuses to communicate. If you receive a message you will answer it at a run. A run! That’s rule number two. And people, if you don’t already know how to cast one, yesterday was the time to learn it. It’s required. Figure it out!” He rushed on.

“You’re trainees, the trolls of this hospital, nobodies. You do the tests, write the orders, work every second night until you drop, and you do not complain! Your first shift begins now and lasts for 30 hours,” he smiled.

“As the Head told you, we have several ‘On-call Rooms’, these are intended for sleeping, not sex. I’d advise you to sleep when you can, where you can, which brings me to rule number three. If I’m sleeping, do not wake me unless your patient is bloody dying!”

They all chuckled a bit, then fell quiet. Pucey did not continue, he seemed to be weighing them up, one by one, with his eyes.

“Healer Pucey?” Hermione inquired.

“Yes?”

“You said four rules. That was only … three.” She continued.

Nott snorted. ‘Know-it-all’ she heard him whisper under his breath next to her. 

In that very moment, a silver raccoon came running up to Pucey.

“Adrian Pucey to the first floor: Dai Llewellyn Ward,” a male voice spoke.

Pucey looked up at them all then pushed off the bench and bolted for the door. “Rule number four! When I move, you move—come along!” He called over his shoulder as he ran through the door. They hurried after him.

When they made it to the Creature-Induced Injuries floor, she saw an older man lying on a table shaking violently. A healer was standing over him trying to make the man swallow a potion. His nametag said ‘Augustus Pye’. Pucey rushed over and helped restrain the man. Once the potion was in his system, he seemed to calm down but stayed alert.

“What happened?” Pucey wheezed.

“Bit by the right head of a baby Runespoor. Poor lad works for ‘the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’ and was on a mission where they had gotten wind that someone was trying to smuggle the snake into the country,” Pye answered as he began applying Dittany to the bites.

“Don’t just stand there,” Pucey barked at the group who stood stunned watching. “Someone, get me a vial of ‘Antidote to Common Poison’ as well as ‘Blood Replenisher’.”

“The rest of you help contain the mauling,” Pye smiled. He was amazingly cool in the heated situation.

Hermione rushed to the potions cabinet and got the vials she needed. The potions could not be _Accio’d_ , due to security measures created by the hospital as a result of theft. One had to be wearing healer robes to open the medicine cabinets located in every ward.

Quickly, she shut the cupboard and made it back to the patient. She poured the potions down the patient’s throat and set to work with the others, healing and containing the wounds.

Pye stepped away as they worked and cast a diagnostic.

“He’s made it out of the storm. Good work,” he congratulated and left them to finish up.

Once finished they moved the man into a cot. Hermione cast a _Scourgify_ as well as a _Tergeo_ to clean up the mess they’d made.

* * *

 

The day slowed down a bit after the morning’s excitement. Adrian had patients on all floors, and they completed rounds, getting to know the different cases.

While on the second floor, a woman was brought in and they went to help her. Before they could make it all the way to her cot, Pucey turned around and winced.

“She seems to have caught Spattergoits,” he told them, gesturing to the woman’s face. Painful purplish-red boils covered her neck and face.

The woman in question wheezed as she tried to talk to them from the great distance. “I don’t know what happened,” she told them, her voice strained. “I was taking a nap and when I woke up, I felt fatigued and my muscles and joints hurt a lot.”

She started coughing and Pucey conjured a glass of water that he levitated over to her bedside.

“It looks like you caught Spattergoits,” he told the woman. “As it is highly contagious, we’ll have to place you under quarantine for some time.”

The woman sighed but nodded. Her throat seemed to have swelled to a point where it physically hurt for her to speak.

When the group went on to the next patient, Hermione stayed behind. She felt as though something was amiss. Quickly she performed a _bubble-head charm_ and went to the woman’s bedside.

“Do you mind if I run a diagnostic charm on you?” She asked the woman.

The patient shook her head and watched Hermione with grateful eyes.

Hermione cast a quick _Constituto Venenuma_ to see whether the body contained any poisons or venoms. The result came back positive. She scratched her head. Leaning in closer to get a look at the boils, she noticed small puncture holes in each of the purplish-red spots.

“They’re bites, not boils,” she muttered to herself.

“What do you think you are doing?” A male voice barked from behind her.

She turned around to find her trainee group and Pucey staring at her.

“Sir,” she began, but he cut her off.

“I require you to keep up when I move, Granger,” he stated and there was acid in his voice.

Swallowing she tried again. “Sir, these aren’t boils, they’re bites. Doxy bites if I had to make a guess,” she stated.

Her group of trainees seemed to tense. Theo Nott and Christina Yaxley were fighting smiles, indicating that they both found it hilarious that Hermione was arguing with her supervisor on the first day. Rolf Cattermole’s mouth hung open at Hermione’s gall, and Hermann Munter was looking at her as though he was trying to solve a puzzle. Munter's eyes were narrowed and he seemed to be biting his cheek. The tall, blonde had struck Hermione as rather arrogant when she first greeted him. Deeming by the look on Munter’s face at that moment he seemed to be angry that he hadn’t made the discovery himself.

“Nonsense, I already diagnosed her,” Pucey scoffed and Hermione's eyes snapped back to him.

“But, Sir,” she repeated.

Pucey looked exasperated. “Come along, Granger,” he sighed and turned around again.

However, Hermione did not move from her place beside the woman’s bed.

“Do we have a problem here?” A warm voice cut in. Hippocrates Smethwyck walked towards them with a smile on his face.

“No, we're fine, Si-,” Pucey stated, glaring at her, but she cut him off.

“Sir, I believe this woman is suffering from an allergic reaction to Doxy venom,” she stated.

The Head Healer looked at her. “Please explain, Miss Granger,” he said kindly. “What makes you believe that, and how would you proceed if you were to diagnose this patient?”

She sucked in a lungful of air and then let the words rush out. “Well, Sir, first of all, I would have listened to the patient while she was still able to talk,” she replied and shot Pucey a dirty look.

“The patient claimed to have symptoms of muscle and joint pain in addition to the fatigue. And the spots, though they do look a lot like Spattergroits in size and placement, are slightly too red in my opinion.”

Taking another lungful of air, she continued. “If this was my patient, Sir, I would use the _Constituto Venenuma_ diagnostic to see whether or not the body contained any venom. When it was confirmed to me that the boils contained poison, I would study them closer and realize they are in fact doxy bites. I would administer a dose of the ‘Antidote to Uncommon Poisons’ and watch for an allergic reaction to the poison. I would also have examined the rest of the body for more bites. I would treat all bites with the Essence of Dittany,” she finished, then added, a bit smugly, “The patient would be able to leave within a few hours, instead of months, as is the case for Spattergroits.”

The head healer studied her. “Did you cast the diagnostic and find venom?” He inquired.

“Yes, Sir,” she answered.

“Mr. Nott - confirm the diagnosis. Miss Yaxley - get the potions she mentioned and start administering treatment,” he barked to Theo and Christina, who stood at the forefront of the group.

Adrian looked as though he wanted to murder her. She swallowed.

As the others rushed past her, she turned back to Smethwyck. “What are the symptoms of doxy bites, Miss Granger?” He asked her, brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Well, there is fever, headaches, muscle and joint pain, and in case of an allergic reaction, an inflamed throat. That could cause the patient to struggle communicating and experience shortness of breath. Lastly, fatigue and tender or inflamed bites.”

Smethwyck grinned and turned to Pucey.  “Well, Mr. Pucey, take note! We always run diagnostics, no matter how small or simple the case might seem. Seems like you got yourself a good study, Adrian. Miss Granger, keep up the good work!”

She gave him a curt nod and he left them be. Pucey was fuming. If he thought he was concealing his anger, he was wrong. The boy was being as subtle as a giant. He did not reprimand her, but she knew punishment for her little stunt would be delivered soon enough.

* * *

As day turned into night, and then the night turned into a new day, the group of trainees became more and more tired. They were all lounging in the locker room, enjoying the calm of the early morning, consuming a cartload of snacks they’d bought in the Tea Room and getting to know each other.

“I’m telling you, the Institute of Salem is the best Healing School there is!” Christina insisted with her mouth full of pumpkin pasty.

Christina was an American Witch with a thick New York accent. She was of half-Chinese, half-British heritage. Her British family had moved to America in the mid-1800s and was only distantly related to the Yaxleys that resided in England today.

Nott was shaking his head. “No way! Both Rolf and I went to the Akhr Academy in Cairo. It was a bloody brilliant school. Right, Rolf?” He insisted.

Rolf Cattermole nodded. He was a mousey little man, shy and rather quiet. Apparently, he’d been a year below her at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw.

“Where did you attend?” The last boy of the group asked her, dragging her back into the conversation. His name was Hermann Munter and he’d gone to Durmstrang. He had informed the others that he'd been top of his year there when introducing himself.

Munter came from Sweden and had attended MagiMalmö Medischool, a very modern healing school in Scandinavia.

“I went to the Trotula Institute in Salerno,” she stated, picking up an apple.

“They offer a lot of controversial classes, don’t they?” Nott inquired. “What additional classes did you take?”

“Yeah, they do. Uhm, I took ‘Modern Magical Healing,’ and ‘A Guide to Mind Healing,’” she answered, biting into the apple.

“‘Modern Magical Healing’? Isn’t that mostly about how we can adapt muggle healing techniques to branch out? What a waste of a class!” Nott noted.

Hermione finished chewing, raising her eyebrow at him.

“It was really interesting actually. I’m sure you’ll have much more use for the ‘Most Common Curses in Ancient Egypt’ or whatever nonsense you chose,” she said sarcastically. 

After a moment, she continued. “Actually, I’d be willing to bet galleons that I’ll be able to use something I learned in those classes before you’re able to use something you learned in yours!”

Nott snorted. “Aegrotos sanabit ars magica - magic will heal the sick, Granger. You’re on!” He stated, confidently.

* * *

As their shift was nearing an end, they split up in two groups for a final round to check on Pucey’s patients. Theo and Hermione were making their way to the ‘Artefacts Accidents Ward’ located on the ground floor. They were on the steps close to the apparition point when they heard a strangled cry.

“Help, I need help—he’s dying!” A blond woman sobbed, holding a soaking man with blood streaming down his arm. The man seemed to be unconscious, and the woman was clutching him to her chest, her hair hanging like a curtain over them, screening their faces from being seen.

Hermione rushed towards the pair on the floor, Theo on her heel. When they got close enough to catch a proper look at the bloodied arm, they both gasped.

What met their eyes was a badly carved up Dark Mark and it was gushing blood…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> I also received help from [PaleandBroodingsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleandBroodingsGirl/pseuds/PaleandBroodingsGirl) and [TheImperfectionista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImperfectionista/pseuds/TheImperfectionista), for which I am really appreciative!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.
> 
> Disclaimer for chapter 1:  
> \- The welcome speech the Healer makes is much inspired by the speech made by Richard Webber in episode 01x01 of Grey’s Anatomy.  
> \- The four rules Pucey mentions is much inspired by Baily’s rules in episode 01x01 of Grey’s Anatomy.  
> 


	2. By The Skin of One's Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His gaze met hers like a devastating head-on collision, engulfing her in their depth. When he recognized her, those vacant, grey orbs filled with something, grew less empty somehow. Yet, he seemed to be slipping into oblivion. He looked awful. His blond, nearly white hair was plastered to his head, dripping wet. Studying his face, she caught herself thinking that the war was not over in his mind, either.

**Tuesday, 6 th of August 2002**

What met their eyes was a badly carved up Dark Mark and it was gushing blood…

The woman whipped her head back to stare at the two healers in front of her. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked as though she might be going into shock, her body trembling with violent shakes. 

Hermione recognized the perfect, beautiful features of Narcissa Malfoy twisted up in a pained expression. She looked down onto the man in Narcissa’s arms and was shocked to find Draco Malfoy’s vacant, grey orbs gazing up at her through half-lidded eyes. 

His gaze met hers like a devastating head-on collision, engulfing her in their depth. When he recognized her, those vacant, grey orbs filled with something, grew less empty somehow. Yet, he seemed to be slipping into oblivion. He looked awful. His blond, nearly white hair was plastered to his head, dripping wet. Studying his face, she caught herself thinking that the war was not over in his mind, either.  

“Well do something!” Narcissa screeched, eyeing both the healers in front of her. 

With those words, it was like time sped up, and both she and Theo snapped out of their initial shock and quickly levitated Malfoy’s body into the nearest ward.

 When Narcissa tried to follow she was stopped by the Welcome Witch.

 “You have to stay here,” the Welcome Witch insisted. 

The last look Hermione caught of Narcissa was her sinking onto one of the rickety wooden chairs, tears streaming down her face and her only son’s blood soaking her elegant robes. 

* * *

They worked efficiently; Theo began assessing the arm while she ran the necessary diagnostics on the rest of Malfoy’s body. 

Whilst deciding on the proper potions she would administer, she quickly sent a Patronus to Hippocrates Smethwyck, asking him to please arrive on the ground floor. She administered the necessary potions and began helping Theo, who was putting Murtlap Essence on the dressing on Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy had stayed quiet while they worked on repairing his damaged forearm, even though he was alert. His jaw was clenched tightly as though he was experiencing a huge amount of pain. 

After a minute, Smethwyck arrived at the scene. He quickly ran his own diagnostic to see if they had the initial situation under control.

“Rough one to get at the end of your shift. How would you assess the patient’s state Miss Granger?” He asked her.  

“I’d say he is depressed and suffers from suicidal ideation. He struggles with anxiety, possibly what we classify as PTSD. He also struggles with insomnia and night terrors, for which I think we should administer the Dreamless Sleep Potion while he is here,” she began.  “When he arrived here, he was hypothermic – this we treated with Pepper-Up Potion, to bring his body temperature within a normal range.”  

“I used a wound-cleaning potion and the _Tergeo_ spell to clean his wound,” Theo shot in. “He’s lost a lot of blood, so I plan on giving him four doses of Blood Replenisher over the course of four hours to stabilize him. If his wound opens again, we’ll continue giving him Blood Replenisher until we find a permanent solution for his injuries.”  

“We put Essence of Dittany combined with the _Vulnera Sanenturo_ spell to heal the gashes as best as possible,” Theo continued to explain.  “Lastly, I used the _Ferula_ spell to bind the forearm in bandages to put pressure on the wound. We dosed the bandage with Murtlap Essence both to help with the pain and healing.”

Theo turned towards her, making it clear that he wanted her to continue. She gave him a small smile. “We administered a Calming Draught to help the patient stay docile while we worked. Then, to halt any possible curses his wound might contain I administered a vial of the Temporarium Mortem Potion. I know this is unusual, but I thought, well, since it was a Dark Mark that was injured, we might want to be on the safe side,” she rushed, looking up at the Head Healer and finding his expression friendly. 

“Ehm, then I also dosed him with Dr. Upply’s Oblivious Unction to combat the thoughts leading up to the suicide attempt, as well as a Draught of Peace to relive some of the anxiety that showed up on my _Statum Animo_ diagnostic. The diagnostic was really hard to read, Sir. There is barely any light left in his brain,” she added, truthfully.  

“What spells did you use to diagnose?” The healer questioned them. 

Hermione continued. 

“Well, Theo began working on the wound while I cast a _Promuto Morbus_  to locate injuries. It showed up in his head and on his arm, as well as the light blue sheen of hypothermia,” she said, hoping what she told him was satisfactory. “Theo cast a diagnostic on the wound on his arm and got to work there. I cast an _Animo Angor_ to see whether he had been hit with a curse in the head or not. When nothing appeared amiss, I went on to cast the _Statum Animo_. It confirmed our first thought that this was an attempt to end his own life. 

“I did no such thing,” Draco bit out. He seemed to have woken up slightly more as the potions began working in his system. He’d been quiet till this point, listening to the many things his two former classmates had done to try and save his life. “I was just trying to stop it from hurting so fucking much,” he muttered. 

“I know, mate,” Theo consoled while Hermione just gave Malfoy a questioning look.  

“When can I leave?” Draco inquired. 

“We’d like to monitor your wound for a bit, make sure it is not cursed, as you say, it hurt,” Smethwyck reassured him. “How did you attain your injury, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I was taking a cold bath; my hand was hurting, and Mother stole the drugs I take,” Malfoy muttered, grumpily. He was clutching his arm in a tight grasp, his fingers turning white from the strain of his hold. 

“Drugs you’ve been administered?” Smethwyck mused.

“Well, no,” Malfoy seethed. 

"That explains the hypothermia--,” Hermione said, “--but how did you get the gashes?”

Malfoy remained mute. 

“Very well, try to get some rest now,” Smethwyck told him. 

* * *

As they left Malfoy’s bedside, Theo beckoned for both her and Smethwyck to follow him outside. He cast a silencing charm to surround them, then began speaking with a strained voice. 

“I didn’t want to say it in front of him before we knew what we wanted to do,” he told the head healer, eyeing Hermione.  “When I cast the _Specialis Revelio_ to see if the mark was cursed, a curse showed up. It was triggered by him tampering with the Dark Mark… The signature of the curse looks to be close to that of the _Cocacendo_ , which means it is a rotting curse. His scar will start to decay if we don’t find a way to reverse the dark magic bound to the mark.”

“If that is the case, the best thing would have been to amputate the arm. Why didn’t you do that Mr. Nott?” Smethwyck asked, voice stern. 

Nott swallowed audibly, “Well, he’s my age, Sir, I’m sure he would like to keep the arm. There has to be another way…”

“Fine!” Smethwyck barked. “I’ll give you one day to find a solution. Both you and Miss Granger will keep a close eye on the arm and try to maintain the curse. If he is in pain or if we need to amputate earlier, I expect you both to have the nerve to do so.” 

He turned to her and continued using his stern voice. “Miss Granger, why was the Patronus sent to me and not your supervisor?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I panicked, I didn’t think,” she stuttered. 

His look softened a little bit. “Make sure not to make the same mistake again,” he told her, then turned around, healer robes billowing out behind him, leaving them alone in the hall outside the ward.

* * *

They had to move Malfoy from the ground floor to the spell damage ward on the fourth floor. 

They placed several monitoring enchantments over Malfoy’s body to keep track of his heart rate and hormones. It would pick up on spikes and surges, alerting them if he was in danger of hurting himself again. Theo brought Malfoy a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion and, within minutes, Malfoy was out cold. 

“Look, Granger, I know you don’t have a lot of positive feelings for him,” Theo began. “But… we have to find another way.” He sounded desperate.  

Hermione looked away. Her mind was on fire; it was so weird to be healing someone she’d looked upon as an enemy for most of her childhood. Still, there had to be a way and maybe there was… 

“Speak, Granger!” Theo shouted. He was shushed by a Mediwitch working close by.  “You have this look on your face like you’re plotting.”

“Well, I might have an idea actually,” she told him. 

“What?”

“So, in Muggle medicine,” she began, Theo groaned. “Just listen! In Muggle medicine, if you have a wound that is unable to heal, you can replace the skin there with new, healthy skin. They call it a skin graft.”

Theo visibly winced.  “That sounds morbid!” he whisper-shouted at her, making sure not to be caught by the Mediwitch again. 

“More morbid than watching your arm being amputated or rot down to the bone?” She asked him, giving him an incredulous look.  

Theo shook his head. “What’s the plan?” He asked her.  

“I say we simply cut the decay out of his body. You said yourself: the curse is attached to the mark. If we remove the mark and the rotting flesh, then rebuild his skin using dittany and a skin graft, we can save his arm.”

“And where would we get skin, Granger?” He mocked. 

“Well actually, the most successful skin grafts are typically those that use the patient's own skin. It is harvested from another area of the body.”

“Okay, but how?” he continued to sound skeptical. 

“They use an instrument called a dermatome or simply a scalpel, but I think we’ll be able to do it using a very careful _Diffindo_. Next, they take a sample of skin from his thigh or back. When we have the skin, and we’ve cleared his arm of the rot, we can attach the healthy skin with stitches and then cover the whole thing in dittany. Finally, we cover it with gauze and bandages.” 

The plan sounded even more brilliant out loud than it had in her head. 

“Stitches? He can be awake for all that?” Theo questioned. 

“Godric, no! It’s supposed to be really painful getting a skin sample at least. We knock him out on Draught of Living Dead or _Stupefy_ him and perform it while he’s unconscious. We can bring him back up once we’ve finished.”

She grinned, feeling like this might actually work. Theo grinned back. 

“Merlin, Granger, you are great, you know that?” He told her jovially, and then he picked her up and spun her around. The Mediwitch sent them a dirty look and he put her back down. After a moment, he asked her, “What do they do for aftercare?”

“I have to read up on it, but I know he cannot strain himself, and he has to eat more protein and calories to heal the skin properly. There might be more, I don’t know. But this is worth a try, yeah? We’re not going to make it worse by trying,” she reasoned. “I’ll have to go to the CAMLIS Medical Library to pick up some medical journals on skin grafting. Can you stay with him for an hour while I’m gone?” 

Theo grinned. “Sure, and hey, maybe we can insist the healing takes longer than it does so he has to stay in the hospital longer. I think we need to insist on some Mind Healing for him,” Theo mused, sounding like the true Slytherin he was. He looked like the cat that had caught the canary. 

“That would be lying, Theo,” she scolded. 

“And?” Was all he said before he strode back in to sit beside Malfoy. 

* * *

Hermione went to check on Narcissa. She gave the blonde some Calming Draught and the Draught of Peace before updating her on Draco’s condition. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d have to assume your son was trying to kill himself, Mrs. Malfoy,” she began, feeling foolish when the older woman narrowed her eyes at her.  

“Well, do you?” Narcissa shot back, menacingly.

“Do I what?” Hermione responded, feeling baffled that this would be the blonde’s response to her son being suicidal.

“Know better?” The blonde witch finished.

“He denies that was his intention, yet that’s what the scans are telling us,” Hermione sputtered

“If he says it was not his intention, you should believe it was not his intention,” Narcissa responded.

Hermione sighed and decided to move on. After explaining what they’d done so far and how they planned to proceed, she directed the Malfoy matriarch to the fourth floor where she could find her son and Theo.

Hermione headed to the library to begin gathering the materials they would need for their research.

* * *

When their shift ended, Hermione and Theo ran to an on-call room. They both downed a vial of Pepper-Up Potion as well as Wide-Eye Potion to stay alert after 30 hours on the clock and dove head first into the research they needed to conduct. 

Hermione’s initial plan seemed to look just as good on paper as it did when she first explained it. After eating a quick meal, courtesy of the dreadful Tea Room, they made their way to the Head Healer’s office to get an all clear on their plan. He seemed both happy and surprised at their proposal. After 30 minutes discussing how they wanted to proceed, he shooed them from his office, wishing them luck. 

They made their way back to Malfoy’s bedside to check on him. He was still asleep when they arrived at his cot and, for the first time since he’d arrived, she had a chance to take him in fully. He was paler and thinner than she’d remembered him ever being, yet he looked older. His face, in dreamless sleep, was peaceful. His jaw was a sharp square and his nose just as pointy as it had always been. His fringe was long, almost falling into his eyes. He seemed to have skipped shaving a few days too many and looked scruffy. His lips had returned to their normal warm pink color once he’d returned to normal body temperature. They were full and slightly turned down. His under-eyes carried bruise-like shadows that looked like they’d become a permanent fixture on his face. As if he could feel her gaze, he blinked and then scrunched up his face, falling out of the short-lived peace he’d been in. 

His mother sat by his side holding his hand. She was in a new set of robes, having changed out of the bloodied ones she’d worn when she arrived a few hours earlier. Next to her stood a small house elf. 

“What’s going on?” Malfoy asked them all, looking suspicious. 

“Are you alright, mate?” Theo responded tentatively.

“Are you asking like my healer or as a friend?” Malfoy spat.

“As a friend, I’m worried. You disappeared, you shut us all out, I just don’t understand what happened to you, Draco,” Theo was rushing. 

“Sure, worried,” Malfoy muttered back. 

Nott looked at him with sad eyes. He prepared to speak but Hermione cut him off. “We have some things we need to discuss with you,” she told him, keeping her voice neutral. 

They explained what they wanted to do and what would happen to his arm once the Temporarium Mortem Potion left his system if he opted not to try their plan. He nodded solemnly throughout the entire speech.

“So, I’ll be left without a mark?” He asked them once they were done. 

“Yeah,” Theo told him. “We’re removing the entire thing.”

Narcissa left the room once Draco agreed, kissing his forehead and wishing the young Healers good luck.

* * *

They began preparing for the procedure, casting _Bubble-Head Charms_ on themselves, sealing the area and _Scourgifying_ their hands.  Miriam Strout, the Healer-in-Charge for the fourth floor was going to supervise them while they worked. She had a motherly appearance with dark hair gathered in a bun at the base of her neck. She seemed to be a soft-spoken woman and reassured them that she’d be right there to assist if anything went amiss. 

“Granger?”  

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to make it, right?” Malfoy asked her before she administered him the dose of Draught of Living Death that was going to put him under.

She nodded. “Yeah, you’re gonna make it,” she told him earnestly. 

Hermione administered the dose and they set to work. Theo began working on the Dark Mark while she carefully began extracting a skin flap from his right thigh using a slicing charm. They worked in silence. She kept reapplying Dittany to the wound she was creating and was able to heal it while removing the skin at the same time. Once a decent flap of skin was retrieved, she moved over to help Theo. He’d removed the mark but was working in quick movements, severing any skin or flesh that was affected by the curse. She helped him finish and they cast several diagnostics to make sure the curse was gone. 

Strout smiled at them and came over to cast her own diagnostics. “It looks good to me,” she told them truthfully. 

They were prepared to begin the process of closing his wound when Theo stopped her. “Look at that spot on his Ulna bone, there is a dark spot on it.” He brought his wand close, casting a _Lumos_ and shining the light directly onto the slowly growing brown spot that was forming. 

“We’ll have to remove the bone and regrow it, the curse has reached the bone,” she told him. He nodded solemnly.

Quickly, while he held the light steady, she pointed her wand at the bone and whispered, “ _Ulna Ossio Dispersimus_.” The bone vanished with a pop. 

They prepared to attach to the new skin, conscious not to make it too tight, considering the fact that he was going to have to fit another bone inside. 

It was a lot harder than they were prepared for. They covered the bared flesh in dittany before laying the newly retrieved skin flap on top. Hermione conjured a surgical needle and thread and began stitching the edges together while Theo went over her incisions with more dittany. Once secured they ran more diagnostics. It looked to have gone flyingly. 

For the first time since they’d started working, two hours earlier, she let out a full breath of air. She was so relieved she wanted to cry. Strout administered a dose of potion to bring Malfoy back to the surface, and Theo gave her a tight hug. They would not know if they’d succeeded until a few days had gone by, but it looked good right now. It really did.  

Strout would stay with Malfoy until he woke up, monitoring him. She promised to administer him the right dosage of Skel-E-Gro and ushered the two tired trainees to go home after the beyond long workday they’d endured, congratulating them on surviving their first shift with a smile playing on her lips. 

* * *

When Hermione Apparated home, she felt her exhaustion for the first time since she’d left for work the day before. She went over to her fridge and retrieved a bottle of tequila.  As she was about to down her fourth shot of the burning liquor, the sun fused with the horizon and it rendered everything the same blazing shade of pink. It had been a good day, better than she’d expected, interesting even. She finished her last shot, put the bottle back and filled up Crookshanks’ food bowl again before she made her way to the bathroom to clean up.

She fell into bed ten minutes later, unable to keep her eyelids open any longer. She’d been at work for nearly 36 hours and was beginning work again in another 12. She intended to sleep for as many of those hours as possible.

* * *

 

(I made a few drawings of how I imagine Hermione, Draco, and Theo in this fic. Hope you like it!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support I received on the first chapter! It's been so motivating hearing your feedback. I really hope you like this chapter as much as the first. As always, reviews are much appreciated!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> I also received help from [PaleandBroodingsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleandBroodingsGirl/pseuds/PaleandBroodingsGirl) and [TheImperfectionista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImperfectionista/pseuds/TheImperfectionista), for which I am really appreciative!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	3. The Erumpent in The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Draco Malfoy is a paradox,” he stated, sneering at her, voice dramatic.  
> “He wants to be happy, yet he only does and thinks about things that make him sad. The more he wishes to let go of the past, the more he holds onto it. That’s ironic, huh — don’t you think so, Granger?”

**Thursday, 8th of August 2002**

There’s an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It’s when you meet the same people or visit the same places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger. Nothing is ever familiar. That was what Hermione felt every time she went to visit Draco Malfoy. She never knew whom she’d meet once she crossed the threshold of the ward he was being kept in.

It had been two days since they’d saved his arm, and so far, although their interactions had been sparse, Malfoy was being very uncooperative. Sometimes he’d joke around, seeming fine, but he was always beating around the bush when it came to why he was hospitalized. On other occasions, he would not utter a single word, except to ask when he’d be allowed to venture home. He’d refused to talk to Nott at all, and Hermione had been left as his main caretaker courtesy of Adrian Pucey.

It was her punishment. And she hated him for it.

While Christina, Theo, Hermann, and Rolf got to run around helping people turn elephant trunks back into noses, mend broken bones, diagnose what kind of poisons had been ingested, and save lives, she was stuck with her childhood tormentor, trying to make him talk about his feelings.

“Are you ready to start our conversation today?” She asked Malfoy that Thursday morning after the group of trainees had finished their morning rounds.  She’d plastered a fake smile on her face and was slightly scared it looked more like a grimace than a smile.

As Hermione made her way over to his cot, she cast a quick _Muffliato_ for privacy. Malfoy had yet to answer her.

“So, what do you occupy your time with?” She continued, drawing the chair up to his bedside.

“Nothing,” he muttered sulkily.

“So, you just sit around all day? You know being sad is not a hobby, right?” She asked with a forced grin, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Malfoy muttered.

“Would you like to talk to Nott instead?” Hermione inquired, knowing that he would probably refuse, but hoping otherwise.  

“No, I don’t want to talk, period.”

She sighed. “Well, the thing is, you can’t leave the hospital until you pass your psych evaluation. And to do that, you have to talk to one of us since we are the ones assigned to your case.”

Malfoy growled.

“Your bedside manner could use some work, Granger,” he tried to insult her. Hermione huffed in response.

“Pretend I’m not here,” she suggested. “Just talk, talk to yourself. Say anything and everything you want to say. You know I am under a confidentiality agreement. I won’t tell a single soul what you say, dead or alive. Tell yourself about yourself. Just start there, or anywhere, really.”

He looked at her, calculating.

“Draco Malfoy is a paradox,” he stated, sneering at her, voice dramatic.

“He wants to be happy, yet he only does and thinks about things that make him sad. The more he wishes to let go of the past, the more he holds onto it. That’s ironic, huh — don’t you think so, Granger?”

Hermione could tell from his tone that he was mocking her suggestion, but she did not interrupt. He was trying to psych her out, possibly scare her. She kept herself from responding, letting him fill the silence instead.

“Draco Malfoy is both lazy and ambitious,” he proceeded. “Or to quote Bukowski, my ambition is handicapped by laziness.”

She sighed. Inhaling.  _How did this Pureblood boy know of a writer like Charles Bukowski?_

“Draco Malfoy often says he doesn’t care, yet he does. He struggles to sleep, but when he finally falls asleep, he struggles to wake up. He craves attention but rejects it when it comes his way. Draco Malfoy is haunted by the idea that he is wasting his life yet has no intentions to change the track he is on.”

Malfoy gave a hollow chuckle.

Hermione still did not contribute anything to the conversation. After a moment of staring into her eyes, Draco sighed and continued.

“He was told his entire childhood that Muggles were inferior to him, yet now, they are the only people, except his mother, that he ever interacts with.”

Her mind stuttered to a halt. _WHAT? The slimy prince of Slytherin, interacting with Muggles? -_ she could not picture it.

Hermione knew Malfoy had been hauled to Azkaban following the Dark Lord’s fall. He’d spent nearly six months there awaiting trial. Both she and Harry had spoken at his hearing in front of the Wizengamot, defending the young Slytherin’s actions during the war. Draco had been sentenced to two years of house arrest. He’d been allowed to finish his NEWT’s privately during that time. Malfoy had been a free man for more than a year now. Had he really spent that year avoiding everyone magical? Had he really changed so much since they’d been in school together?

Draco looked at her seeming pleased to see that he’d left her a bit baffled. “This what you want, Granger?” He sneered.

She still didn’t say anything.

“I’m a conflicted contradiction, and if I can’t figure myself out, there is no way you’re going to do it either, so I’d like it if you didn’t try.”

He turned away from her, efficiently ending the conversation.

“That’s a start,” Hermione said as she got to her feet. “Let’s see how we fare tomorrow.”

“Oh, bugger off, Granger!” He muttered into the pillow.

She left the ward.

* * *

As Hermione finally finished her second 30-hour shift for that week, she could not help but heave a sigh of relief. Her body was aching, and she felt more tired than she could ever remember being.

Her work schedule hung inside her locker door and she lightly traced her fingers down the column for Even Numbered Weeks:

She was looking forward to having a few days off over the weekend to get situated in London again. She had been gone for so long. Her apartment still looked like someone was either moving in or out, scattered with boxes and filled with dust bunnies in every corner.

As she was putting on her outer robes, someone moved into her line of sight.

“Want to come for a quick drink with the rest of us?” Hermann Munter asked her while shrugging out of his own green robes. “Adrian is going to show us this magical pub really close by. It would be cool if everyone joined.”

The blonde seemed to put preassure on the word 'us', making it seem like Hermione was not a part of the group. She didn’t really want to go but knew she should try to socialize. 

“Yeah, guess I can stay for one,” she told him, giving him a small smile.

* * *

Her trainee group strode down the stairs together and ended up on Judd Street, in front of the hideous mannequins and the storefront of Purge & Dowse Ltd.

It had been a long time since she’d seen the false front of the hospital. She usually just entered through the Apparition point located on the ground floor. The street outside was busy with Muggles going on their lunch break.

“Just follow my lead, yeah?” Adrian Pucey shouted over his shoulder as he led the way.

They walked into the Muggle pub located next to St. Mungo’s secret entrance. The pub was called ‘The Skinner’s Arms’ and was stationed on the corner of Judd and Hastings.

Pucey went up to the barman and, to Hermione's astonishment, ordered what sounded like a Firewhiskey. When an empty glass was put down on the counter, Pucey simply picked it up, then he vanished.

The trainees looked at each other, and then, one by one, they followed Pucey’s example.

When it was Hermione’s turn to pick up the glass, she felt a slight pull behind her bellybutton. When she opened her eyes, she was in a nearly identical space to the one she’d just left. It was not quite like traveling by Portkey, but that was the closest thing she could compare it to.

Witches and wizards having a jolly time surrounded her. Over the bar, in a spindly font, ‘The Hole in The Wall’ was written haphazardly.

She turned around to see most of her fellow trainees with drinks in their hands, already laughing merrily.

Out of the corner of her eye, the barman caught her attention. It was not the same barman who had handed her the empty glass. This one was old and fat, robust tummy filling half the space behind the bar and he was staring at her, waiting for her order.

“Hello Plum, what will ya have?” He asked since she made no move to speak.

Hermione stuttered. “Uhm, some elven wi…” she began but was cut off by Theo, slinging his arm around her shoulder and ordering for her.

“Hey, Xinus - you old dog. She’ll have a few fingers of Ogden’s finest, on me,” he stated, tossing a few coins on the countertop and looking down on her with a big grin.

“That sound alright, Granger?” He asked her, his smile crooked up on one corner, making him look adorable. His brown hair was an utter mess from running his hand through it too many times in the last 30 hours. The gesture and messy aftermath reminded her of Harry, and she cursed at herself. She still had not written to her best friends to tell them she had returned to England. She probably ought to send Neville a letter too, as she was bound to run into him at St. Mungo’s at one point or another.

Ever since their shared victory on the Malfoy case, Theo had acted very familiar with Hermione. She did not mind him being friendly, but she was afraid he was hoping his camaraderie would lead to something more than she wanted to give him.

“Yeah, thanks,” Hermione muttered, breaking their shared gaze to continue surveying her surroundings. She met Munter's eyes and quickly looked away. The blonde wore a stony mask and seemed to be studying the scene in front of him. 

The pub was a dim place, decorated in dark woods with brown leather booths and barstools. It was less worn down than both the Leaky Cauldron and the Hog’s Head, yet not as cozy as The Three Broomsticks. She rather liked it. The atmosphere was warm, and the bar smelled of cinnamon, wood, cooking oil, and whiskey. 

Theo was discussing the latest quidditch match between Puddlemere and the Falcons with the barman, arm still slung casually over her shoulders. He snapped out of his discussion as Christina called his name, and he made his way over to the other girl.

When her three fingers of whiskey were placed upon the counter, she thanked the barman and followed the rest of her group to a booth.

In addition to the drinks, someone had ordered two plates of freshly fried chips covered in salt and vinegar.  They looked delicious and she grabbed a few, almost moaning when the bitter and salty taste filled her mouth. She took a tentative sip from her glass and listened to the conversation around her.

“I think we should play a game,” Theo suggested. He was sitting to her right with Christina on his other side. “A game to get to know each other better.”

“What do you have in mind?” Pucey piped up from across the table.

“Never Have I Ever?” Christina suggested, and Hermione groaned. She’d never been a fan of drinking games, especially ‘Never Have I Ever’.

“Oh, c’mon Granger, it’ll be fun,” Theo whispered in her ear. He was sitting too close, his leg bumping into hers.

“We’ll start with something outrageous,” he stated. “Never have I ever robbed a bank.”

Nobody drank. Hermione slowly raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip.

“What?” She heard Christina sputter from her seat on the other side of Theo.

“You have to tell the story,” Hermann encouraged. All eyes were on her.

“It was during the war,” Hermione began. “We needed something in Gringotts, and we broke in to get it.”

Pucey whistled. “Not just any bank, eh, Granger?  The most secure bank there is?!”

Hermione did not elaborate further. She was uncomfortable with all the attention directed at her. Someone's leg bumped into hers and she flinched away. “I have to use the loo,” she stated, excusing herself from the situation.

When Hermione neared the table on her way back from the bathroom, she could hear her group of colleagues whispering between themselves.

“She was friends with Harry Potter?” Munter was asking Theo.

“Yeah, she’s way famous,” Pucey muttered.

“She was in my year at Hogwarts,” Theo told them. “Bloody brilliant, too! They used to call her The-Brightest-Witch-Of-Our-Age before she fucked off to Italy.”

Munter scoffed. “Brightest of our Age?” He questioned, doubtingly, though his face seemed to be falling slightly. 

“Why’d she leave?” Christina interupted him.

“Nobody really knows. There were rumors of a mental collapse,” Pucey told them. “I mean, looking at her now, it’s not hard to believe.”

“I think she seems fi...”. Christina caught her eye from where she was hiding.

“Come sit down,” she hollered, straightening out of the hunched position they’d all been wearing over the table.

Their expressions were embarrassed, but also a little… defiant. She could see on their faces that they’d been talking about her behind her back and they thought she’d heard. She had.

“Should we continue playing?” Munter asked as Hermione settled herself next to Theo.

The rest of the table agreed, a little too eagerly.

“Let’s choose something easy,” Adrian mused. “I really want to drink! Never have I ever had sex,” he stated loudly, raising his glass at them and taking a big gulp.

Hermione’s stomach fell. The rest of the table clinked glasses and laughed. Quickly she got to her feet and started shrugging on her outer robes.

“I really should be going,” she told the table, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“You’re not gonna finish your drink?” Munter inquired, seeming a bit crestfallen.

“Ehm, no, I really ought to get going,” she told them, hurrying towards the door.

She could hear Pucey’s laughter as she exited the bar that did not seem as warm as it had when she’d entered.

“She’s robbed a bank, but never slept with a bloke,” she heard him bellow as she made it through the door leading to Judd St.

Pucey’s voice filled with mirth. “I mean, she’s 22, nearly 23 - can you believe it?”

* * *

Hermione made it out onto the pavement and the bitter taste of vinegar filled her entire being. She felt so embarrassed about everything that had transpired over the last couple of minutes.  She started on the short walk back to her apartment on Burton St. clutching her outer robes tightly around herself. Her throat contracted painfully as she tried to keep her tears at bay.  She felt as though she was drowning, choking.

As she started rushing dow the crouded street, Hermione thought she could hear someone calling her name. She didn't turn around. The Muggles she passed were giving her strange looks, eyeing her peculiar clothing, though she did not find it in herself to care. Hermione was too busy not falling to pieces right there on the pavement.

She gulped on the warm summer air. She couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen. She felt as though her throat was a vacuum, never satisfied no matter how deeply she tried to breathe. Her lip trembled.

The walk took her less than five minutes.

When she made it inside and closed the door, she found herself sinking down to the ground. Her eyes found the celling of her flat and her vision blurred as she finally let go of her emotions.

 _Breathe_ , she told herself as she struggled to catch her breath. _Just breathe_.

Hermione lay down in a fetal position, focusing on taking slow breaths. She felt as though she was tightening into a ball of unyielding panic. Her lungs were pressing into her ribs painfully, and she felt as though something inside her might crack.

in, one, two, three, four,  
out, one, two, three, four,   
in, one, two, three, four,   
out.

The hallway was too small for her panic attack. Hermione closed her eyes as the walls started closing in on her. After what seemed like an eternity, she uncurled from her position and made her way into the bedroom.

It felt as though the world had ended and she fell into a restless sleep, once again haunted by the nightmares that were her memories and the dreams where she danced at the bottom of the sea while the storm cried and the wind spoke, and silence was freedom trapped in a prison.

When she woke up, sometime after midnight, the world began anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> I also received help from [PaleandBroodingsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleandBroodingsGirl/pseuds/PaleandBroodingsGirl) and [TheImperfectionista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImperfectionista/pseuds/TheImperfectionista), for which I am really appreciative!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.
> 
> References:  
> \- Quote by Chuck Palahniuk from his book 'Choke':  
> “There's an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It's when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger. Nothing is ever familiar.”


	4. Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

**Friday, 9th of August 2002**

After rounds that morning, Hermione made her way to the fourth floor. Nobody in her trainee group had mentioned her hasty retreat the day before, for which she was glad, yet it also worried her. She knew they’d probably continued talking about her once she’d left the bar and she was both curious and anxious about what had been said.

The trainees were set to go through a field training exercise later that morning and her only responsibility until then was to check on Malfoy’s wounded arm. 

Malfoy was sleeping when she arrived at his cot. Huffing in annoyance, she started shaking him awake.

“Time to get up,” she muttered, irritated that she was still stuck caring for Draco Malfoy.

“Go away,” he hissed. “I’m sleeping.”

She wanted to scold him. He was a 22-year-old man for crying out loud! “I have to do your check-ups; this is no time to be difficult.”

He scoffed and put his pillow over his head. “Go away,” he repeated, huffing and puffing like an angry dragon.

“Will you tell me how I can convince you to cooperate with me?” Hermione asked him, voice high in irritation at his stubbornness. It was meant as a rhetorical question, yet he answered her.  

“Fine,” he huffed, removing the pillow from his face. His voice was still tired, and, with a yawn, he continued. “I’ll send you out to win my favor. Your quest involves bringing me a large mug of proper coffee and a stuffed croissant. Or… you can go out and slaughter all my enemies. You can choose whichever option you’d like.” 

She chuckled. “You promise to be more cooperative if I perform the first task?”

He grunted and nodded.

“Do NOT go back to sleep while I’m gone,” she told him sternly and strode out. She did not close the door of the ward until she heard his feet hit the floor. 

* * *

Next to Purge & Dowse on Judd lay a fancy brunch place called ‘Half Cup’. Hermione ordered a loaded croissant and two large Americanos to go. Proper coffees and food in hand, she hurried back to the fourth floor.

Malfoy was both showered and dressed when she arrived, and he seemed to be in a slightly better mood. She handed him both his coffee and croissant and sat down in the chair next to his bed, sipping the scalding liquid and feeling content.

They sat in comfortable silence while he ate, and she sipped her coffee. It was like a twin need for both silence and solitude; both of them dealing with yet another morning together, alone. At that moment, she found that his company was not unwanted. 

It was while sitting in that chair, morning light seeping in through curtains haphazardly closed, that she realized she did not hate him anymore. She didn’t have the energy to hate anyone. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t deserve her hate any longer either.

Before heading to her training exercise, she ran a few diagnostics on his arm, checking how the healing skin was coming along and gave him a few potions.

“Could I please have some more pain relief?” He asked her before she strode away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t administer more,” she told him truthfully.

He’d groaned loudly. “C’ mon, Granger. I thought your side was supposed to be all about mercy and kindness and shit.”

After a moment of silence, he hastily added, “Please!”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered turning away from him.

“Well, congratulations,” Malfoy barked at her retreating figure. “You, Granger, you’ve got them all fooled. Do you like seeing me in pain? Does it feel good?” He asked her in the snarky drawl he’d carried since he was a child. His tone, though much the same, had changed, lessened by the undertone of exhaustion that seemed to consume him on a daily basis.

She did not answer, only strode away, leaving him to sulk all on his own.

 _Just when I was convinced we were making progress_ , she thought darkly to herself.

* * *

Hermione was soaked to the skin, the _Impervious Charm_ she’d cast on herself at the start of the field training session having worn off quite some time ago. They were in the courtyard behind St. Mungo’s. 

Rain was pouring down, much like it did nearly every other day in London, though it seemed worse today—the expression ‘raining cats and dogs' did not seem to cover it; it was as though an entire zoo was falling from the clouded sky.

Rutherford Poke, one of the Spell Damage healers from level four, had prepared five dummies for the ten trainees to practice on, and they had been at it for hours. Poke had split them into groups of two and she had been paired with Theo. They were informed that they were pretending to be in an anti-apparition-zone and were waiting for a team of Aurors to help move the patients.  

So far, most of the trainees had lost their dummies and were out of the game. They were standing and shivering as the two remaining teams worked on; Poke didn’t allow anyone to venture inside. 

Both Christina and Hermann wore similar expressions of distaste. They'd been cut only minutes prior due to a stupid mistake and were both blaming each other for their loss. 

“I hear the Auror squad. I hear it, I hear it!” Hermione squeaked. Her ears had gone nearly deaf from the pounding sound of the rain, and in fact, she could not swear to hear anything. 

“Oh, wake up! You don’t hear the squad, because a) they are imaginary and b) the imaginary squad is never coming!” Theo roared, a sour look on his face. “Poke is trying to break us, teach us a lesson about how field healing is not fair or some other kind of bullocks. We are not done till he says we’re done, or these dummies are all dead! The end!”

“It’s not true! You are WRONG!” She yelled back.

“Screw this, I’m not doing it anymore!” Christina exclaimed from the line-up behind them.

“Wh-what?! Yaxley!” Poke yelled after her, trying to stop Christina from going back inside. He was not successful.

Poke ventured over to the other remaining team and after several minutes, declared their dummy dead. 

“You said the squad would be here hours ago, and I’m not complaining, but where are they?” Hermione asked Poke when he came over to look at their work.

“Well, the weather is pretty bad,” he answered. “They probably got caught in a hailstorm.”

Hermione groaned.

The healer-in-charge was wearing a wicked kind of smile, enjoying the trainees suffering far too much. He pointed at Spinnet, his assistant for the day, and she started making her way over to them. Alicia was holding the index cards that would surely tell them of yet another complication the dummy was supposed to be suffering.

Hermione threw her hands over the dummy protectively. “No—No! I know what those cards are going to say! It’s going to say that the dummy has Cardiac Tamponade, but he can’t, because I already performed the _Anapneo Fluidi Pericarda_ charm to remove any possible build-up of fluid from the pericardium,” she screamed at both Spinnet and Poke, who looked stunned at her behavior. 

“She’s right,” Spinnet admitted, showing Poke the index card she was holding in her hand.

While the two people in charge were busy discussing, Hermione got to her feet and whispered _Accio_. She'd summoned the broom Theo had stowed next to his locker that morning before Poke could stop her. It came flying out of the open window on the 5th floor.

“Whoa, what do you think you are doing?” Poke scolded her, pointing at the broom in her hand. “That broom is not a part of the permitted tools for this session.”

“Na-Ha, you are just making things up, and so can I, and I say it IS in play!” she sing-songed right back at him.

“Get on and fly us to the nearest apparition-zone,” she chanted at Theo, who was grinning wildly at her.

“Alright,” Theo laughed, getting on. Hermione settled herself in front of him and used her wand to levitate the dummy beside them.

“We might have lost 4 dummies’ here today,” she told Poke. “But this one WILL live! Now move, before we RUN YOU OVER!”

Poke, Spinnet, and the rest of the trainees stood stunned. Hermann Munter wore an expression of awe watching as Theo and Hermione shot into the air.

Theo was laughing hysterically and steering the broom UP—UP—UP, towards the falling sky.  He landed them on a nearby rooftop and they both Apparated to the apparition point on the ground floor of St. Mungo’s.

Hermione conjured a table right there in the entrance hall and continued working on the dummy.

“Get me two vials of Blood-Replenisher, frozen Ashwinder eggs, and Pepper-Up Potion. Send word to Strout that we need her down here to save this dummy’s life,” she was cackling, just as the rest of the class appeared in the hall.

“Alright, Granger, that’s enough,” Poke told her before Theo could run off to do as she’d said.

Hermione continued working, quick-firing directions to no one in particular.

“You have to tell her she won, or she’s never going to stop,” Theo laughed, unable to mask his joy at her going completely nutters.

“But it’s not a contest,” Poke began, while Nott gave him a level stare. “Alright—Fine. Granger, Nott, your team wins.”

Hermione froze. “We won?” She asked, turning around to look at the healer in charge.

“Yes, your dummy is going to live well past 150 and have 12 grandchildren, are you happy?” He asked in a defeated voice.

Hermione let out a roar of joy, and ran over to Theo, throwing her arms around him and laughing hysterically.

“You know it was not really a contest, yeah?” Nott asked her as she let go of him.

She did a little celebratory dance, stamping her feet and throwing her hands above her head. She probably looked like a drunken mountain troll, but she did not care in the slightest!

“Oh, I know,” she told Nott, smiling. “I still wanted to win though.”

* * *

When Hermione arrived at Draco’s bedside Friday evening to perform his nightly check-up, he was clutching a large box in his hands. “What’s in the box?” She asked him, trying to peer inside but he snatched it away from her.

“It’s from my mother,” he stated haughtily. His voice was slightly slurred, but she did not comment on it.

She began unwrapping his bandages and surveying the wound. As expected, it looked good, and she would be removing the stitches that evening. She got the tools she needed and began the slow process. He did not flinch, just sat quietly while she worked.

“Come on, what is it?” She prodded after a few minutes. She was still in a good mood after the victory she’d experienced earlier that day, and she didn’t want to spend her evening in uncomfortable silence.

“It’s heavy, so I guess it must be my mother’s hopes and dreams for me,” Malfoy deadpanned. 

She laughed. It was a strange feeling, laughing at a joke her school enemy was making, but it was also kind of nice.

“Congratulations, Malfoy, you made a joke,” she told him in a mock-earnest tone.

“Are you laughing at my statement or the prospect of fulfilling my mother’s dreams for me?” He continued to joke.

“Both I guess,” she chirped. “Now c’ mon, stop being coy. What is it?”

She knew he was deflecting like he always did when he did not want to answer her questions.

“If I tell you, you’re going to take it,” Draco stage-whispered.

Hermione knew he was probably right but decided that it was better to build some kind of talking relationship with him rather than be the strict Prefect in this very moment.

“I promise I will not take your box,” she told him. It was rather sneaky. If it was dangerous, she would simply take the contents of the box, not the box itself.

“Fine… Mother brought me some Firewhiskey,” he told her in earnest.

“Alcohol mixed with the potions you’re taking - you’ll hate yourself in the morning,” she pointed out shrilly, yet still good-natured. It would not hurt his progress but was technically not allowed in the hospital. She decided she would let this one slide. After all, how much could it hurt?

“I hate myself every morning,” Draco muttered to himself, but it was loud enough for her to hear.

Hermione froze, mood plummeting, his arm still in her now cooling grip. Within the silence that followed, she could have sworn she heard the low, shallow sound of his beating heart. The sound, though faint, was much like what a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. She sat motionless as the hellish tattoo of his heart grew stronger, quicker, louder. Hermione soon realized that it was not his heart she was hearing, but the fast, rapid pulse of her own, beating steadily in her ears. She wondered if he could hear it too.

She kept working on his arm, removing the rest of the stitches and applying a tiny bit of dittany. When she was done rubbing it into his skin, she did not remove her cold fingers but let them linger. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the pain she knew would be there. Didn’t want him to be embarrassed for being honest. 

When Hermione finally glanced up, Draco’s expression was tight, eyes nearly closed, and he seemed to be regretting what he’d let slip immensely.  He looked confused about how he should continue the conversation. She gazed at him; concern written all over her face. “Malfoy…” she started.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don't want to talk about it.”

He looked down into his lap, and she clutched the hand her fingers still lingered on, tightly. She was trying to give him some comfort of sorts, but he yanked his hand out of her grasp, pulling away from her.

‘ _Stupid_ ’ her mind chanted.  

His brows furrowed. “I’m — I want some privacy,” he breathed, still not meeting her gaze.

“Okay,” she muttered. She turned to the potions bottles she’d brought, measured out the correct doses and handed him four tiny cups. He downed them without so much as a grimace. The alcohol had probably numbed his taste buds too much to taste the foul potions properly.

“Have a good night then,” she said, with her back turned to him.

He did not answer. 

Hermione skirted away from his bedside and over to the Mediwitch station on the other side of the room. By the time she turned back to look at him, he was already asleep.

Before leaving the ward, she retrieved a tiny bottle of hangover potion and put it on his bedside. Then she walked away.

* * *

Hermione got home a little after 11 that evening. She finally mustered up the courage to begin the dreaded letters to her friends. She’d put them off long enough. 

As she was about to sit down at her kitchen table, parchment and quill in hand, she noticed a hunched figure on the other side of the street.

The man was dressed in a full-length black cloak, hood raised so she could not make out his features. She caught herself thinking that this was curious attire to be sporting in the middle of August.

As she watched him, he picked up a pack of cigarettes and lit one with a match, inhaling. _Ah, just out for an evening smoke then_ , she mused and did not think about it any further.

Writing the letters was harder than she’d imagined. She began her draft for Harry but ended up crossing out half of what she wrote. What she ended up with was short and to the point:

_Dear Harry,_

_This is your friend Hermione writing. I hope you are doing all right! It’s been ages since we last spoke and I miss you. I have some recent news that I’d like to share. I’m back in Britain._

_As you know (or maybe not), I finished healer school in Italy this July. I received a trainee spot her in London, at St. Mungo’s, and I am back for good._

_Would love to meet up this weekend if you have any time free. I haven’t really told anyone that I’m back yet, but I’ll be owling Ginny and Ron as well of course. As I said, I miss you and I hope you’re well._

_Love from Hermione._

_P.S. I would appreciate if you did not tell anyone else quite yet. I’d like to be the one to contact them. Thanks._

Her owl, Hadwin, an Eastern Screech Owl she’d gotten while living abroad, stood dutifully while she tied the note to his leg. She walked over to the window and opened it to let Hadwin out; there was no sight of the man she’d spotted earlier.

Hermione did not linger by the window to watch the pretty bird on his journey. Instead, she went into the bathroom and hid in the shower.

The shower was as good a place as any to hide, she mused. Owls could not reach you in the shower. Your friends could not talk to you there. They could not see you cry with dread at what their reply might do to you.

No one could see your tears… not even you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting on the last update, I love hearing feedback from my readers! If you like this chapter please review, it gives me so much motivation whenever I get comments!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> I also received help from [PaleandBroodingsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleandBroodingsGirl/pseuds/PaleandBroodingsGirl) and [TheImperfectionista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImperfectionista/pseuds/TheImperfectionista), for which I am really appreciative!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> The field training scene was VERY much inspired by episode 07x07 of Grey’s Anatomy where Owen is teaching a trauma course.


	5. Through Thick and Thin

**Saturday, 10 thof August 2002**

Hermione was standing in her kitchen getting ready to Apparate. She didn’t know what to expect once she got to her destination. She was awfully nervous, and she scolded herself for her own silliness. She’d known both Harry and Ginny for more than half her life -- why would she be nervous to see them?

She knew them or… she had known them. Did she know them anymore?

With a crack, she Disapparated and reappeared just outside 12 Grimmauld Place. She paced the pavement for a few seconds before she made her way to the front door. With a tentative hand, she knocked, once, twice, then waited.

The door sprang open nearly instantly, and she looked down meeting Kreacher's sour expression. He looked much the same, still wore a ratty old pillowcase and sported a pinched expression.

Kreacher gestured for her to enter, and she did. Just as she made the first uncertain steps inside, a messy-haired Harry appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

They both froze and stared at each other for a moment; her brown eyes meeting his glorious green ones. She basked in the green fields that were his orbs and started running into those fields, arms outstretched as though she was flying.

The tender hands of nostalgia closed around her heart and she felt the longing she’d had for her best friend beat steadily within her. Hermione threw herself into his open arms and hugged him close; she still didn’t want to let go once the hug had gone on for too long. She simply did not move, just hugged him closer and soaked in the fact that she was content at the moment.

Eternities took place in the seconds he held her. After far too long, or maybe far too little, they let go. She grasped his face, studied his features.

Harry had grown up. He was no longer the scrawny 11-year-old that had befriended her at the beginning of first-year; he’d become a man. Laugh lines had formed around his eyes and he looked healthy, happy. His skin was sporting a fetching summer tan and he smiled his glorious crooked smile, studying her just as closely as she was studying him.

She let go of his face and averted her eyes, afraid that he would not like what he saw when he gazed at her.

Harry grasped her hand. “I’m so glad to see you again, Mione,” he told her, voice hoarse, strained with emotion. The smile he was giving her was blinding. “I’ve missed you more than you know!”

“Me too,” she told him, giving him a small smile of her own.

Harry led her into the sitting room where Kreacher was busy organizing afternoon tea. The room looked far different than the last time she’d stayed there.

Don’t think about the past, she scolded herself, afraid she’d slip back into the memories if she dwelled too long on them.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” she told him while taking a seat on the midnight blue velvet-covered sofa, eyes darting around the large room.

The sitting room had been painted in whites, while the dark wooden floors remained the same. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only the sofa, a table, and two leather armchairs.

Harry had left the majestic black and gold fireplace intact, and a warm, red Persian rug containing blue and cream undertones covered the sitting area. The room looked open and inviting, so different from what it had once been.

Bookshelves lined the far wall and her fingers itched to go exploring. Above the fireplace, several framed photos lined the wall. She was shocked to see her own smiling face waiving out of several of the picture frames. The one that caught her eye was from 4th-year during the Quidditch World Cup and she was smiling widely, arms slung around both Ron and Harry who were wearing similar expressions.

Harry caught her looking at the photo. “That’s one of my favorites too,” he told her in earnest. She smiled at him.

“When will Gin get here?” She asked him, taking a sip from her teacup. Kreacher had prepared it to perfection, and she made a mental note to remember to thank the old elf before she left.

“In a half-hour or so,” he told her. “So, how are you? Tell me what’s been going on. When did you get back?”

He seemed nervous too, and it reassured her a little bit.

“I came back last Sunday, but I’ve worked more than 80 hours since then, and this is the first free time I’ve really gotten,” she explained.

“How do you like it? The hospital I mean,” he pressed on.

“It’s interesting, still very new. I train with a few people from school,” she told him.

“Oh, whom?” Harry seemed generally interested and it reassured her. They were both trying; they both wanted this to work, wanted to reconnect.

“Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott, and Eloise Midgen,” she began. “They’re not in my main group as we are split into two groups between the supervisors. I also work with Theo Nott, Adrian Pucey, and Alica Spinnet.”

“Ah, so a good mix of old Hogwarts houses then.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “What about you? How’s life in the Auror office?”

* * *

 

Conversation flowed freely and Harry filled her in on a few of the things she’d missed while hiding in Italy, as he put it. After a short while, Ginny joined them, and the conversation moved to Quidditch and what was going on with the rest of the Weasleys.

Ron was still playing Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons, George had been joined by Lee Jordan at the joke shop and was currently dating Angelina Jones. Molly was much the same, so was Arthur. Percy had recently been promoted at the Ministry. Charlie still lived in Romania, and all was well with Bill and Fleur and their three-year-old daughter Victoire.

Hermione stayed for dinner and contemplated how easy it had been for them to move back into a familiar pattern.

She sipped her wine as Ginny told the exciting tale of her last Quidditch match with the Holyhead Harpies. She was gesturing madly with her knife and fork, barely missing Harry’s face at one point.

Suddenly Harry broke her off. “We have something we want to tell you,” he told Hermione. “Me and Gin, we’re...—We are having a BABY!”

Hermione sat stunned.

“I’m less than three months along, so it’s still gonna be a while, but we’re so excited! We’ve not really been trying for long, so it’s so thrilling that it’s gone this fast. We were talking about names the other day and we think we want to name the baby after Harry’s parents. What do you think?” Ginny was babbling and gushing.

Hermione felt her throat closing. _A family of their own._ _Her friends were starting families of their own, and all she was — was … alone._

“Congratulations,” she tried to tell them in earnest. Harry was looking at her strangely.

“Any news about how your mum is doing?” He asked her. Ginny stopped gushing and gave him a questioning look.

They all knew any talk of Hermione’s parents were a big No-No.

After the war, before attending her last year at Hogwarts, Hermione had gone down to Australia to attempt to undo the spell she’d cast on her parents in order to save them from the wizarding war. When she arrived in Australia a year after casting the charm, she’d found out that her father had died in a car crash a few months earlier.

She’d desperately tried to bring her mum back to her then. She needed at least one of her parents to remember her, but the spell had been unsuccessful.

Instead of making her mother remember her and the life they’d had before, the spell had cracked her mother’s mind in two, making it so that she remembered Hermione half the time, and the life without her the rest. The only constant in her mother’s two worlds had been her husband, and he was gone, and she was broken.

Hermione had moved her Mother back to Britain and put her in a home that specialized in dementia patients. A magical mind healer had been seeing her mother regularly for the past three years while she was in school. There had been no progress. There was never any progress.

“No, there’s no news,” she told Harry, looking away, her stomach churning, trying to push its content back up again. She swallowed.

“Maybe we should go see her tomorrow,” Harry suggested, taking a bite of his lasagna.

Hermione looked at him. He would do that for her after all this time? He would come with her to see her mum, knowing full well that she’d probably break down afterward and he’d be left to pick up the pieces? He was truly still her Harry.

 “Yeah, I’d like that,” she breathed, unshed tears filling her eyes as she gazed at him with all the gratitude she could muster.

* * *

 

**Sunday, 11th of August 2002**

Harry arrived at her flat the next morning sporting muggle jeans and a jumper. He looked around the tiny space she had acquired for herself, obviously not impressed, but not commenting on it either.

"You ready to go?" He asked her.

"Yeah, I just need to grab my purse and brush my teeth--that's it," she answered, rushing from the kitchen and into the bathroom.

They walked to the Euston underground station from her apartment. It was only half a mile and it was a lovely day.

The weather was not too warm, and a soft breeze danced around them in a slow waltz.

Hermione held Harry's hand as they walked, finding comfort in the body beside her.

She had not gone to visit her mother since she had finished Hogwarts. It was one of her greatest shames. She'd tried to visit her mum every weekend while at Hogwarts, but it had simply been too hard. The lack of progress had made her feel helpless and, in combination with the trauma she'd been carrying with her since the start of the war, it was simply too much.

"I--I hope she recognizes me today," she told Harry as they were nearing the station.

"If she does, she does. If she doesn’t, she doesn't," he smiled at her, squeezing her hand tightly in his.

They took the metro from Euston to Finchley, where they caught their second tube to Kilburn Station. It was a 10-minute walk from the station to her mother's care home located in Brondesbury Park. Harry held her hand the whole way.

Harry had sometimes gone with her on the weekends while they were at Hogwarts and he knew how hard it was for her to go there. They'd always arrived by metro, giving Hermione plenty of time to prepare on the journey there.

They always Apparated back.

"I have to tell you something," Harry uttered as they caught sight of the nursing home. She looked at him, eyes wide. He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat.

"C' mon… Tell me!" She encouraged.

"I've sort of been...I've been visiting your mum about once a month for the last three years, Hermione," he told her slowly.

She pondered what he'd said. Someone had been visiting her mum. Someone that was not her, someone else, but then again—this was Harry, and Harry was... He was Harry, and it was okay. Wasn’t it?

Thought of unease crawled over her skin like a climbing vine, and Hermione took a steadying breath.

"I just thought someone should see her, not just the healer that visits and the nursing staff, and I thought—well since I've gone with you before, that it would be alright. I'm sorry if I--" he rushed on when she didn't answer.

She cut him off. "No, don’t apologize! Thank you for visiting my mum when I wasn't able to do it myself, Harry."

She let go of his hand and turned to face him, giving him a tight hug, her hands clasped behind his back. He hugged her back.

* * *

 

They had not stayed long. Hermione’s mother had a bad day and did not remember Hermione at all. She’d kept talking about how she’d always wanted children, but she and her husband had never been able to conceive. She kept asking them if they knew when Wendell, Hermione’s father, would be arriving. It had been rough, and Hermione was exhausted when it was over.

When they arrived at her flat, Harry made tea and they talked for a while before he ventured back home.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t react to the baby news in the right way yesterday,” she told him. “I was just shocked, and I really am happy for you two. I hope Ginny wasn’t offended or hurt… If she needs any kind of healer help, I’m more than happy to be the person to help her.”

“I know,” he said. “You don’t have to explain it.”

Once he was gone, Hermione had curled up on her bed and wept till dinnertime. She’d ordered pizza, not in the mood to cook, and watched a bit of telly while eating the greasy Italian cheese bread courtesy of Pizza Express.

After finishing her meal, she wrote letters to both Ron and Mrs. Weasley as well as Neville and Luna informing them of her return. She did feel slightly better after seeing her mum even if it had been stressful. It had eased certain anxieties and added others. Seeing her mother being well taken care of had been nice. The nurses had told her that though disoriented, her mother seemed happy in the home. Still, the guilt over what she’d done to the poor woman was at the forefront of her mind, gnawing at her.

Hermione was so grateful for Harry and everything he’d done for her in the last couple of days as well as what he’d done for her while she was gone.

When it was time to go to bed, she could not fall asleep. She tossed and turned, mind churning over the fact that she was to blame for all this misery. She’d broken her own mother in a selfish attempt to get part of her family back. It was all her fault. It was all so fucked up.

She got out of bed at two o’clock in the morning to get some water.

As she stood by the window in her slip nightgown, she noticed the smoking man out on the street again. He was wearing the same cloak as before, standing huddled in the exact same place as he did two nights before and he seemed to be watching her flat from under his hood. When he’d finished his cigarette, he lit another and stayed put. She went back to bed.

 _It’s nothing to worry about_ , she told herself.

 _The war is over, you don’t have to be afraid_ , she reassured.

 _It’s probably got nothing to do with you,_ she consoled.

 _Stop being so paranoid,_ she scolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and Kudos I've received the last week.  
> Reviews truly breathe life into me!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	6. All Ears

For the next few days, after Hermione returned to work on Monday, Draco ignored her. He grew quiet and took several steps back, refusing to speak to her… or anyone else.

She’d started watching him, picking up on his habits like the crumpled pieces of paper he’d drop on his endless journey from his cot to the tea stand and back again. He left his traits behind like the pieces of bread left by children in the woods, not realizing that the crumbs would be eaten by birds, or in this case, her.

She lingered on the fourth floor whenever she could, drawn to him and everything he was dropping and leaving for her to pick up. Hermione saw things even with her eyes averted.

He took his tea with sugar, not milk, and he loved it most when it was far too sweet. The more spoons he was allowed to add to his cup, the more he would.

He went through books faster than even her — he always seemed to have a new novel on his bedside, and his tastes were varied, ranging from old potion tomes to Harper Lee.

He bit his fingernails, but never too much; they weren’t gnawed raw, just simply short. It seemed to be a nervous habit. He’d also pull on the skin around his nailbeds with his fingers, ripping until he bled and left tiny stains all over his cot. She found herself feeling sorry for the elves that had to clean his sheets at the Manor regularly. She felt sorry for the elves regardless, but this was another thing she was adding to the list.

Since Draco had arrived, he’d never worn color—nor did she remember him ever wearing color at school, except Slytherin green when he played Quidditch. He’d have tea with his mother at three o’clock every day, and they’d always play chess afterward. He would let her win, but only after putting her in ‘check’ at least once. He seemed to be a strategic player, much like Ron, and he obviously enjoyed the game immensely.

When he thought Hermione wasn’t paying attention, he would check out her legs, and she would purposely not turn around, allowing him to stare all he wanted.

She knew she needed to stop, that this new obsession couldn’t be healthy, and that curiosity probably had killed a great deal more than just cats—yet, she couldn’t help it; she was curious about him.

She found him intriguing—that was it. She was not quite sure why; maybe there was not one set reason. Maybe he intrigued her because he was filled with the same kind of restless energy as she. He seemed to come from the terrible Kingdom of Anxiety, where he’d experienced eternities of loneliness and still trudged on. From her perspective, he seemed like an insider when in reality he was an outsider. She found him intriguing because, despite all of their differences, he reminded her of herself. Although she did not like her own traits, she could not seem to stop obsessing over his.

* * *

That evening, while administering his potions, they started talking for the first time in five days.

“I think your arm is nearly completely healed now,” Hermione told him, adopting a conversational tone. She examined the still flaming red, square-shaped scar on his left forearm. “Does it still hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Draco replied, pausing for a moment. “Granger… When will I be allowed out of here?” He sounded nervous, unsure.

She let go of his arm and sat down in the chair next to his bed. He was watching her with shining, sad eyes, desperation written all over his face.

“If you want to leave, there are a few questions we need an answer to,” she stated calmly. Not breaking eye contact, she asked the question he’d always refused to answer. “How did the gashes on your arm appear, Malfoy?”

His brows furrowed. For a long minute, he didn’t say anything, but then, to her astonishment, he breathed in and began talking.

“I was lying in the water and I kept sending _Stinging Hexes_ at my mark then soaking it under the surface to make it hurt less. It usually works. It numbs me, you see, to replace one pain with another. But that day it… It didn’t. And I don’t know why, but I decided to do a bit more than stinging it.”

He looked away from her, head hanging low like he was ashamed of what was to follow.

“It started hurting worse than ever before and it kept bleeding all over. The ache felt like it was feasting on something inside me, and I screamed, and mother burst into the room and brought me here. I never meant for it to get out of control. I thought I could just heal it myself.”

She studied him. “Your head-scans were very dark, a clear sign that suicidal thoughts were present.”

Draco sighed and shook his head. “I’d never kill myself, Granger. I couldn’t do that to my mother, ever. Trust me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to let go of those thoughts?” She asked tone nearly a whisper. She did believe him, and she appreciated him being this honest with her, but it still worried her that his post-war-depression had been allowed to go this far.

“Well, in case you haven't noticed, I don't really let go of things easily,” he scoffed and made a vague gesture to his now healed arm. Hermione had to hide the small smile that was forming on her face. The fact that he was able to joke about this was a sign that he was getting better, wasn’t it?

“When’s the last time you were truly happy?” She asked him. She was not sure where the question had bubbled up from but, once it was out in the open, she was dying to know his answer.

“I can’t remember,” he stated, averting his eyes.

“Do you want to be?”

“Do I what? — Want to be happy?”

“Yeah.”

It took a while for him to answer. “I am not sure if I want to be happy or to be loved for that matter. I am not sure if I want to be left alone or to be held by a pair of warm arms. In fact, I do not think I know what I want. I just know that I am empty, and I’d do almost anything to fill it.”

“Hence the Firewhiskey?” She teased.

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Draco chuckled. 

Silence passed between them for a moment. Hermione was about to speak when he looked straight at her.

“Would you?” He countered. “Would you want to be happy?”

She turned the question over. “Yeah, I think I would, I’m just not sure how to go about trying,” she answered truthfully. 

“Do you blame me for your unhappiness?” He continued to question her.

“No.”

Hermione was slightly shocked at her own answer. She hadn’t even had to think about it. It was true. She did not blame him. She understood that he’d had little choice in his actions during the war, much like she felt she really hadn’t had a choice. They’d both done the same thing — protected the people they loved to the best of their ability... Or at least tried to do so. The fact that he was on the other side of things did not really matter when it came to the intentions behind his actions; they were just as pure as hers had been.

Draco looked surprised at her admission. His look of surprise was not an obvious one. His eyes did not blow wide. His mouth did not hang open. It was a deeper sort of surprise, one you could not really detect unless you were paying close attention. She saw his surprise in the twitch between his brows and in the flickering of his grey eyes. He nervously wet his lips and his eyes darted to hers.

“How did you not let my bullying affect you?” Draco asked her quietly.

“It did, at first, but then my dad told me something that I believe to be true.”

Once again, Hermione was baffled at her own statement. Usually, when she spoke about her parents, it made her stomach twist and her throat close. Yet, right now, her body was behaving itself. Maybe it was because she had spent time with her mother on Sunday, or maybe it was him—she wasn’t sure which.

“What did he say?” Draco questioned.

She bit her lip. “He said that another person’s actions are never really about you. You—" She gestured to him. “—didn’t pick on me because of something I did, and I couldn’t change anything about myself to make you stop, nor should I. You were the one who had to make a change, not me.”

“But I didn’t,” he muttered almost too quietly for her to hear.

“Yes, you did. You’ve changed since the war. Maybe even during the war. You’re different. You’ve grown and you’re not that person anymore, I mean, do you still believe that I am inferior to you?”

He looked at her for a long time, and then his gaze shifted to his hands resting in his lap.

“No. No, you’re definitely not inferior,” he stated.

* * *

Hermione left him to sleep and made her way to the locker room. Both Theo and Hermann were standing in there, shrugging out of their hospital robes.

“Did you have an okay shift?” Theo asked her as she walked past them on her way to her locker.

“Yeah, I’m making progress with Malfoy. His arm is nearly completely healed,” she told him.

“I’m glad,” he sighed. “I just wish he’d talk to me, too. I don’t get it. We used to be so close, and then he just pushed everyone away. It’s been nearly a year since I last saw him.”

She nodded.

Hermione knew why Malfoy refused to see Nott, or any of his friends for that matter. Malfoy had a fragile sort of pride and it broke him to have his friends see what he’d become. It broke him to show any kind of weakness. He’d rather be hurting alone than to have anyone witnessing his mental collapse. She knew exactly how that felt.

Two young Mediwitches entered the locker room, making eyes at Theo and greeting him. He greeted them back.

Hermione caught herself wondering what it was like to be as attractive as Theo was, or even as Malfoy was. What did it feel like to have people eyeing you like you were a meal to be devoured? To have strangers greet you like a friend just because they wanted you? She didn’t think anyone had ever looked at her as a meal. Checked her out, sure, maybe a little… But wanted to eat her like chocolate? She doubted it.

Theo turned away from the newcomers, eyes on Hermione once more.

“I think you just need to give him some time,” Hermione consoled. “He’s started opening up a bit more and I feel like he’s doing better mentally as well.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Theo sighed.

When Hermione opened up her locker, she felt as though something was amiss. It looked like things had been moved around. Her hairbrush, which she was nearly sure she’d chucked to the back of her locker was laying up front. She shuffled around for a bit, checking to see if something was missing.  The only thing she could not account for was her travel-sized perfume bottle. She had a tendency to move it around though, often chucking it in her purse or pocket when leaving the hospital, so she couldn’t really be sure it had been there, to begin with. She shook her head, tired. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her?

Letting go of the thoughts she donned her cloak.

“Join Theo, Christina and I for a quick drink before heading home?” Munter asked her as she was about to make her retreat.

Hermione looked at Theo, who smiled. “Sure,” she said, although she was dead tired. Hermione felt as though the other trainees had grown closer, forming a tight-knit group that didn’t include her because of all the time she had devoted to Malfoy since he arrived. She didn’t want to be left as the odd-man-out.

They went to ‘The Hole in The Wall’ again. It was a Wednesday evening and the bar was pretty full, buzzing with several conversations at once.

Munter went to get a round of drinks while the rest of the colleagues surveyed the crowded room. Hermann came back with an entire bottle of Firewhisky and four glasses.

The four trainees made it over to an unoccupied booth. Hermann slid in first and started filling the glasses.

“Cheers to surviving our fifth shift,” Theo sang gaily, and they all gulped down their first mouthful of amber liquor.

* * *

Munter kept filling her glass, again and again, until she had no idea how much alcohol she’d consumed. Hermione’s glass was in danger of falling from her weak grip and Hermann’s arm was slung over the back of their seats. She’d tried to leave twice already, only to somehow be swayed to stay a little longer by the others.

Christina was leaning over the table, boisterously arguing with Munter about something inconsequential. Hermione had no idea what they were discussing. She found herself swaying to the music that was being played over the wireless and sipping at the contents of her glass. It was nice to sit there pretending to be normal for once. She felt incoherent, thoughts jumping around in her head.

Theo was nearing the table on his way back from the loo and she sent him a half-smile, raising her glass. It was a drunken kind of smile that wasn’t really a smile. He grinned back at her, settling himself across from her at the table.

Hermione caught sight of a tall, blonde figure stepping up to their booth in her peripheral vision.

“Hi,” the newcomer told them, eyeing Theo with a wanton look on her face. Hermione recognized the girl as one of her fellow trainees, but she could not for the life of her remember the girl’s name.

The girl was blonde, pretty in a naïve, doe-eyed kind of way. Her lips were full, with small vertical lines around them. They were the kind of lips you could see in advertisements for lip cosmetics, pretty, symmetrical. Her eyebrows were plucked into thin lines that made her face look as though she was permanently surprised. She looked like a doll, a Barbie. Her figure both curvy and slim at the same time. Hermione was sure certain men would say the girl was built like an amusement park. She’d never liked men who made such comments.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” the blonde said, her voice laced with a strange mixture of compassion and eagerness.

Theo furrowed his brow at her and said nothing. The girl licked her lips and pressed on. “I heard about your case today and I thought, well, maybe you needed someone to talk to.”

Hermione ducked her head, stifling laughter. This girl was being so obvious about her attraction.

She heard Nott clearing his throat, and then he said, “Thanks, Isobel. I appreciate that. But I’ll be fine.”

The girl, Isobel, put her hand on his arm, lightly but suggestively, and leaned in. “That’s good to hear, Theo. I’m here if you need me,” she whispered seductively.

Hermione let out a snort, then tried to disguise it as a cough.

Under the table, she could feel Theo pressing his shoed foot on top of hers, giving her a warning.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he told the blonde.

“Right,” she said, giggling a bit. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, see you,” he replied, lifting his foot from atop of Hermione’s.

As the girl walked away, Hermione was unable to stifle her giggle.

“Oh, bugger off, Granger,” Theo growled.

“It’s just…” she began, stopping to let out another snort of laughter.  “Witches throw themselves at you, constantly, and you don’t even care.”

Theo gave her a level stare. “I’m not interested in any of them.”

Hermione swallowed. _What was he implying? Had her feeling about him thinking of their friendship as more than a friendship been right?_

She wiped at the tears of laughter that had formed at the edge of her eyes and met his gaze.

“It’s bloody annoying,” he told her. “But I’m glad you find it so hilarious. At least some good came out of that encounter.”

Hermione gave him a half smile. “I’m sorry, I just—”

But Theo cut her off. “No, don’t be. I wish Blaise thought it was hilarious, too. Usually, it just sends him into a jealous rage.”

_Why would Blaise Zabini be jealous of girls hitting on Theo? Was he really so selfish that he wanted all the female attention to be directed at himself? Hermione was sure he got enough of it as it was._

Christina chirped in beside Nott. “Who is Blaise?” She asked, obviously having been listening to their conversation.

“My boyfriend,” Nott stated back. “Blaise Zabini.”

_Wait… Theo was gay? And in a relationship with Zabini of all people?_

If he was, it was news to Hermione. She pondered over the new information.

“You’re gay?” Yaxley exclaimed with gall.

Nott chuckled. “Yeah, you didn’t know?”

The rest of the table shook their heads. Hermione was baffled, and part of her felt relieved by the knowledge. At least Theo’s familiarity with her was not an attempt to get into her pants. She remembered Blaise fondly from school. During third-year, she’d had a slight crush on the handsome dark-skinned wizard. He’d always been above the petty bullying so many of his peers had engaged in.

Hermione caught herself thinking that Nott and Zabini made a quite fetching pair; she could see how the two Slytherins balanced each other out well. Theo was an extrovert, loud and joyous, always wearing a smile. Blaise was more serious. The dark-skinned wizard had a dry, smart sense of humor and seemed vastly intelligent. She’d never spoken much to Blaise, mind.

“You should all see your faces!” Theo breathed through peals of laughter.

Christina pressed on, though a smile was on her face. “But you’re pureblood. Surely your parents aren’t okay with that?”

Nott wiped at his eyes, the joy vanishing from his features. His face froze into a mask of apathy. “My mother died when I was nine, and my dad was sentenced to life in Azkaban, so they can’t really say anything on the subject.” He gave Christina a defiant look. “Do you have a problem with it?”

“No, of course not!” She told him.

Munter and Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Good! Then let’s do a toast to all the pretty witches who will never get to experience what a stallion I am in bed!” Nott exclaimed, raising his glass. They all drank.

After another half hour, Theo declared Hermione thoroughly sloshed. It was time for her to get home. “You’re in no state to Apparate yourself,” he told her sternly. “Tell me where you live and I’ll Side-Along Apparate you.”

“Is-only-a-f-f-five-minute-walk,” she mumbled, leaning into his shoulder. “Need air.”

He sighed. “Sweet Salazar, you’re a lightweight, Granger! Come on, I’ll take you. You’re not walking by yourself,” he told her grabbing her hand and leading them out.

Hermann watched them leave.

* * *

In the days leading up to her next shift, Saturday, Hermione spent a large amount of her time thinking about Draco. His words from the other night were ringing in her head.

_‘I am not sure if I want to be happy or to be loved for that matter. I am not sure if I want to be left alone or to be held by a pair of warm arms. In fact, I do not think I know what I want. I just know that I am empty, and I’d do almost anything to fill it’ Draco had said._

As a healer, she wanted him to...heal. She wanted him to heal both physically, psychologically and emotionally. But a part of her wanted to figure him out, too. And that part was growing stronger. A part of her wanted to be the one to make him whole again, which was absurd.

What he’d said, it shouldn’t matter. IT SHOULD NOT MATTER. But it did...

The fact that she was getting so invested in his well-being worried her. He was her patient, her schoolyard bully. She wasn’t supposed to care about him more than any other patient. Their conversations were fucking with her head and she hated that she was the one he had to tell these thoughts to. She hated that she had to carry the knowledge of his suffering with her.

Up until two weeks ago, she’d nearly forgotten he even existed, so why should he mean so much to her now?

Hermione thought about him till her feelings towards him weaved themselves into a confused jungle of obsession and strange longing.

That Friday night, she indulged in behavior she wouldn’t usually condone. Hermione downed unnecessary cough syrup to make herself fall asleep. She dreamed a jumble of warped images filled with blond hair, blood, and suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a day early. Thank you all so much for commenting and leaving kudos, it means the world to me! It would make me so, so happy if you left your thoughts on this chapter! See you all in a weeks time.
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	7. On the Fence

**Saturday, 17th of August 2002**

It's all about lines. The finish line at the end of your trainee internship, waiting in line for a chance to prove yourself as a healer, and then, there's the most important line—the line separating you from the people you work with.

It doesn't help to get too familiar. To make friends. You need boundaries between you and the rest of the world.

Other people are far too messy. It's all about lines. Drawing lines in the sand and praying to Merlin that no one will cross them.

* * *

Work was dragging that morning as Hermione busied around in the reception area. She was walking from patient to patient, clipboard in hand. She healed minor injuries and directed people with more serious maladies to the right floors. It was tedious work. People seemed to go to the hospital just to have a healer apply burn salve these days. She mused about how it was even possible for a normal witch or wizard to be so oblivious to healing that they didn’t know at least a few simple healing spells or the names of common remedies and their uses.

They were receiving a lot of burn victims lately. Someone was selling powdered Runespoor fangs as a substitution to Floo powder and Hermione had seen more burnt bums that morning than she could count.

“It's two Sickles a scoop,” Rutherford Poke was muttering beside her. He was working in the reception hall as well, and his irritation over the burn victims seemed to be ever-growing. “People ought to stop being so bloody cheap. If one more wizard comes in here with a burned backside, I swear I won't treat him. It's two Sickles a scoop!”

Hermione chuckled.

She worked the entrance hall until seven o’clock. Once finished, she headed up to the fifth floor to grab some much-needed nutrition.

Hermione retrieved her packed lunch from her locker. When she entered the lunchroom. Hermann and Christina were already there.

“Okay shift so far?” Munter asked her when she sat down at the table.

“I’ve been working the pit for 12 hours,” she told them. “Poke was about to die from irritation at this new Runespoor trend and all the burns it brings with it.”

The others laughed.

“I’ve been working with one of the other interns,” Christina told them. “I swear to Agrippa that she shits rainbows. The girl is like walking sunshine, it’s disgusting.”

She shot Hermione a smile. Hermione smiled back.

“Which one are you talking about?” Hermann enquired.

“The blond—Isobel,” Yaxley muttered back, darkly. “I swear, after this shift, I’m gonna need a drink, a man or a massage! I’m so tense.”

“That’s the one who hit on Theo, right?” Hermione questioned.

Christina chuckled. “Yeah, I heard she used to be a model for Witch Weekly.”

“Sure is pretty,” Munter mused, though he shot Hermione a strange look. “I’ve always found that half a girl’s appeal is her brain, though.”

* * *

Hermione walked into ward 47 where Draco was being kept at a quarter to ten. Malfoy was engrossed in a novel and did not look up as she closed in on him. He sat in bed, leaning against the headboard casually, a half-eaten plum in one hand and his novel in the other.

“What are you reading?” She asked him as she took a seat in her usual chair. His only response was tilting the book back to give her a glimpse of the cover.

“Buddenbrooks—didn’t know you were into modern family chronicles,” she remarked. “I remember reading it a few years ago, how d’you find it?”

Malfoy straightened up a little. “It’s okay,” he told her as he put his book away.

Slowly, he took another bite of his oxblood colored plum. “Want one?” He asked her, gesturing to his nightstand where a bowl of ripe plums stood displayed.

“Thanks.”

Hermione leaned forward and snatched one plump fruit from the bowl, taking a juicy bite from it. “Mhmm,” she crooned while chewing slowly.

“Mother brought them from our garden this afternoon,” Draco told her. “They’re Elephant Heart plums. The Malfoy family has grown them for centuries.”

Hermione had once had a garden, too. She remembered the smell of the earth as they’d dug room for leeks that would bloom into tulips. The sweet smell of lilac. The dry rustle of the seeds through her small fingers as she helped her mother garden. The burning sun. Freshly mown grass. Time passed swiftly on those days they’d spent their time there. They’d never had fruit trees though.

She smiled at him. “They’re lovely, Malfoy.”

They enjoyed a few more bites in comfortable silence. “You’re very close to your mother, aren’t you?” Hermione asked him, meeting his eyes.

Draco nodded. “I was always close to my mum,” he said then added, “Not so much with my father.” He swallowed. “What about you, Granger? Are you close with your folks?”

Hermione averted her eyes. She’d gone to visit her mom again the day before—this time alone. It had been as bad as the first time… worse actually, since this time she’d gone by herself.

Hermione took another bite of her plum, finishing it off and leaned over to the wastebasket to rid herself of the sticky core. Malfoy was studying her; his brows drawn together, questioning. 

“My parents are traveling through Australia right now. I haven’t seen them in a while but… but, yeah, we used to be really close when I was younger.” She glanced up, meeting his gunmetal eyes that were locked onto her face. “Not so much now,” she finished lamely.

Malfoy nodded again.

Quickly, before he could ask her any more questions about her parents, she changed the subject. “I had a meeting with the Head Healer this evening to talk about your progress,” she told him. “We’re going to discharge you tomorrow morning.”

Malfoy looked elated. “Really?” He asked, voice light. The smile he was sending her was glorious.

“There are a few conditions of course—” Hermione cautioned.  

He cut her off, “Of course.”

Hermione prosed on, ignoring his interruption. “—We want you to see a mind healer twice a week for the foreseeable future, and we also want you to come in once a week to have your arm looked at, just as a precaution, and of course, if you experience any pain, seek help immediately.”

“Of course,” Malfoy crooned again.

She smiled at him. “Does that sound okay?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t want to see a mind healer,” he told her.

“Oh, come on, Malfoy—stop being difficult! I’ll tell all the young and pretty Mediwitches what a stud you are if you agree.”

Draco laughed. “I believe that memo has already been sent,” he told her smugly.

“Tosser…” she muttered, slapping his leg playfully. “Aren’t you excited to go back home?”

“Fine,” he sulked, pouting. “I agree to the conditions.”

She studied him for a while and thought about the conditions she’d wanted to add -- conditions of her own that she had not cleared with Smethwyck. Conditions not appropriate for a healer to demand of a patient. Personal conditions.

“Out with it,” Malfoy barked. “Share your opinion—I can see steam coming out of your ears.”

Hermione feigned outrage. “What, me? I’ve never had an opinion in my life.”

Draco laughed out loud. “Out with it,” he told her again, chuckling.

“Fine, I just—I know it’s none of my business,” she remarked. “I just… I think you should allow your friends back into your life. Meet up with Theo, talk to him—stop being so bloody proud and let your friends help you.”

His expression changed from playful to serious in an instant. “It’s not that easy,” Malfoy told her sternly. “I pushed them away, yes, but they should have tried harder, too.”

“You wanted them to fight for you?” Hermione queried. Malfoy looked away.

“Theo wants a chance to fight for you now,” she continued. Hermione couldn’t quite believe her own sagacity. “Just give him a chance!”

They stayed silent for a long time. Hermione leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. She didn’t want to argue or ask too much of him, she just wanted to help. She heard Malfoy turn towards her.

“I’ll give him a chance,” he told her. “I’ll give him a chance if you promise we’ll keep hanging out every now and then.”

Hermione’s head filled with confusion. She couldn’t understand where this was coming from. Had he somehow grown attached to her?

“I feel like we’ve become friends of sorts, and as you remarked, I shouldn’t push my friends away,” Draco rushed on.

She internally agreed. She felt as though they’d become something like friends. She enjoyed his humor and his snark. She cared about him, but was it appropriate? She was his healer after all. In a rash decision, she decided that she did not care. She wanted him in her life too.

“Fine, we’ll keep hanging out,” she smiled but did not open her eyes.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” She heard him chuckle.

Hermione sighed. “I’m just resting my eyes for a minute, relax, I’ll get up in a moment.”

“Sure, sure…”

* * *

**Sunday, 18th of August 2002**

“Wake up, Granger,” a male voice was hissing in her dream.

“No thank you,” she answered it, hoping it would go away.

“Oh, for crying out loud, get up!” The same mirthful voice continued.

Pain shot through her bum as she landed on the cold stone floor of the ward she was currently in. Why was she in the hospital? Was she sick?

“Wha—what’s going on?” She breathed, meeting the joyous gaze of Draco Malfoy. He’d yanked her out of the chair she’d been sleeping in.

“It’s morning… Time to go, I’m guessing you have rounds or something,” he stated matter-of-factly, studying his nails before he started picking on the skin surrounding them.

He looked tired, as though he’d stayed up all night thinking.

“What time is it?” Hermione croaked, stifling a yawn.

“4:50 am”

“Goodness gracious, I have to go…” She gasped and quickly got to her feet, almost stumbling over herself in her hurry. When had she fallen asleep? She could scarcely remember. She knew she’d gone to check on him a little bit before ten, but she had no idea how long they’d spoken for.

“Why did you let me fall asleep?” She accused, hands coming up to pat at her messy braid.

“I tried to warn you,” he said with a smirk. “You didn’t listen.”

* * *

Hermione made it to the fifth floor with only a minute to spare. They’d be starting rounds at five o’clock that morning. She rubbed her eyes, clearing them of sleep and retrieved a Wide-Eye potion from her locker. She quickly downed it and grabbed a breath mint before Pucey exited one of the on-call rooms, clearly having caught a couple of hours of sleep himself.

The trainees sat down on the benches and retrieved the medical records they carried on each patient they received, reverting the heavy tomes back to their normal size.

They talked about their cases for about an hour, Pucey quizzing them on the different healing techniques they’d chosen for each case. 

Theo had spent nearly all of Saturday with Puddlemere United’s keeper—Oliver Wood, who’d suffered a fall from a great height. Wood was experiencing a lot of internal bleeding and had broken several bones which Nott had decided to regrow rather than mend, due to the severity of the injuries. 

Christina had been working on the second floor, treating Dragon Pox and Black Cat Flu left and right. She’d also gotten to work with one of the other trainees, Isobel MacDougal on a severe case of Vanishing Sickness where a wizard named Bret Kennedy had lost his head. 

The potion and plant-poisoning floor had been staffed by Rolf Cattermole. He had spent most of his Saturday cooking up antidotes until early morning.

“I had to make some adjustments to some of them though,” Rolf explained. “The hospital is running low on both powdered horn of Bicorn and boomslang skin.”

Munter had also spent a large part of his day with Rolf. In addition, he told the group about a patient named Demelza Robbins who’d been _Crucio_ -ed repeatedly by her husband and was receiving shock therapy. Munter talked about the case calmly, even going into the gruesome details. He didn't flinch once, though most of the other trainees were pale-faced when he stopped talking. 

Hermione told the group about her work in the pit with Poke, her progress with Malfoy as well as what she and Smethwyck had agreed upon when it came to Malfoy’s future care.

Once their little meeting was over, the five trainees shrank their files and put them back into their pockets.

“So, you will be freed up to join the rest of us on more cases?” Munter asked Hermione as they got up from the benches to do a circuit of the patients with Pucey.

“Yeah, I’m excited,” she whispered back to him, falling in line behind Theo and Christina.

Theo turned around eyeing her. “So he’s being released?” He asked sulkily.

“Yeah, Smethwyck thinks it’s time,” she murmured back. “I mentioned you to Malfoy yesterday and he agreed to talk to you.”

Theo’s expression cleared up and spread out into a wide grin. “Really? How’d you manage?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but you can come with me when I discharge him before noon to say hey.”

Theo grabbed hold of her hand. “Thank you!” He told her, earnestly.

* * *

As the work shift drew to an end, Hermione and Theo made it to the forty-seventh ward. The Mediwitches had helped clear Malfoy’s cot and both Draco and Narcissa were sitting on the made-up bed waiting for the healers.

“Ready?” Hermione asked Draco as she handed over the papers he needed to sign before leaving the hospital.

He dipped a quill into the inkpot Theo was holding out and signed his name with a flourish.

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” the blond grinned.

Hermione smiled back.

Narcissa extended a small basket with plump plums towards her. “Thank you for your help, Miss Granger, Theodore,” she told the young healers as Hermione accepted the gift.

“Thank you,” Hermione stuttered. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy”.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Narcissa answered.

Hermione left the Malfoys and Theo to talk, shooting Nott a reassuring look before heading out.

As she made it to the door, she heard Theo settling himself in the chair she usually occupied and then the low murmur of quiet conversation.

* * *

Hermione made it to the locker room five minutes before twelve and began emptying her pockets. She was settling the small basket of ripe fruit on the bench next to her locker as Munter entered.

He greeted her cheerily and shrugged out of his robes before settling himself on the bench next to her basket of plums.

“Mind if I have one?” He asked, his hand hovering over the basket.

“Sure,” Hermione answered, turning back to her own locker.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Hermann began. At that moment, Theo appeared in the locker room too.

Munter’s voice faltered as the other wizard walked into the room. Hermione turned around to look at the Swedish boy.

Hermann cleared his throat. “Would—would you like to join me for dinner next weekend?” His voice sounded unsure, nervous, and his body was twitching with tension.

Hermione was stunned. She glanced at Theo who was grinning at her, giving her a thumbs up from behind Munter’s back, before looking back at the boy in question.

_Did Munter like her? How had she not noticed?_

She considered him for a moment. Hermann wasn’t bad looking by any means. His face was a little round, almost baby-like. He had large blue eyes and thick brows resembling caterpillars. His hair was dirty blonde, bangs long. He was tall and broad, and he’d never treated her unkindly. The blonde had a tendency to both boast and be arrogant at times, but overall, he came off as a nice guy. 

Looking at Hermann, Hermione caught herself thinking that Munter was not really her type. And that was an unfortunate train of thought that made her fall down the rabbit hole of considering who was.

Malfoy’s face came to the forefront of her mind, and she pushed it away, embarrassed. Her relationship with Malfoy was completely platonic, they were simply friends, barely even that. The possibility that Malfoy was her type—the possibility that people were starting to pale in comparison to him—was absurd.

It was nice to be asked out, though. Nice to be considered worthy of affection. Maybe she’d misjudged the blonde Swede. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye?

Hermione figured she at least ought to give him a chance.

Remembering that Munter was awaiting her reply, she dragged herself away from her internal conflict. “Alright,” she heard herself tell him.

Hermann smirked. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure, that might be nice.”

“Saturday, seven PM?”

“Alright.”

“I’ll pick you up at yours.”

“Great.”

* * *

It's all about lines. The finish line at the end of your trainee internship, waiting in line for a chance to prove yourself as a healer, and then, there's the most important line—the line separating you from the people you work with.

It doesn't help to get too familiar. To make friends. You need boundaries between you and the rest of the world.

Other people are far too messy. It's all about lines. Drawing lines in the sand and praying to Merlin that no one will cross them.

At some point, though, you have to make a decision. Boundaries don't keep other people out. They fence you in. Life is messy. That's how we're made. So, you can waste your life, drawing lines—or— you can live your life crossing them.

There are some lines... that are way too dangerous to cross. If one does, however, choose to cross them. If one is willing to take a chance, the view on the other side might be spectacular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter a few days to early, the next update will be July 25th.   
> A huge thanks everyone for leaving comments and kudos!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.
> 
> Disclaimer for this chapter:  
> \- I am paraphrasing a quote from the second episode of Grey’s Anatomy season 1 at the beginning of this chapter.


	8. Silver Service

**Wednesday, 21st of August 2002**

Hermione was tired. It was Wednesday evening, and there had been a Quidditch match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Appleby Arrows. It had been a dirty game and several players had been brought in to the hospital with both serious and minor injuries. Hermione had been stuck with the Arrows’ Seeker, Gregory Cotton, for an hour, trying to mend all the bones he had broken.

Cotton was a victim of ‘blatching’ performed by Valmai Morgan, one of the Harpies’ Chasers. She’d collided with him on purpose and had caused him to fall off his broom. It had led him to break 26 bones combined.

Cotton whined and moaned as she performed the necessary spell work. He reminded her of Malfoy back in third-year when he’d been struck down by Buckbeak the Hippogriff. The thought brought a smile to her lips. She missed interacting with Malfoy every other day. She missed their conversations and seeing his pale, pointy face. She missed his dry humor and she vowed to herself that she would write to him soon to take him up on his offer of ‘hanging out’.

As Hermione finally finished with the groaning seeker, a short-tailed Stoat Patronus came running up to her. She recognized it as Munter’s and his gruff voice told her to come to ward 04 to help him with a patient.

When she entered the Artefact Accidentward on the ground floor and walked to the fourth door, she could hear quiet sobbing from the inside.

Hermione pushed open the door.

Munter sat next to the cot nearest the door with a crying Ginny Weasley next to him.

Ginny was sobbing uncontrollably, and the tears only seemed to increase as she caught sight of her curly-haired friend coming up to her bedside.

“What happened?” Hermione asked Munter.

“Hit in the head by a Bludger, suffered a minor concussion,” he told Hermione, sounding exasperated. “I’m done with her, but she won’t leave the cot, and we need it for other patients.”

Hermione turned to the other girl, and Hermann left them to be.

“Gin, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked the redhead tentatively after the other healer had left the room.

“Something, I can feel it,” Ginny sobbed.

“It’s just a concussion, it’s taken care of,” Hermione soothed, trying to reassure her.

“NO! Something is wrong!” Ginny continued to bawl. She was completely hysteric. Hermione felt herself growing slightly irritated. The hospital was bustling with serious cases, and she was stuck here with her friend who was, medically, fine. 

“Ginny, you’re fine,” she told the other girl in a stern voice.

“I’m a stew of hormones,” Ginny barked. “Don’t yell at me. My body is not my own, and something is wrong!” She started; sobbing uncontrollably.

Hermione put her hand on the other girl’s shoulder.  “Is it muscular?” She asked, pushing her own irritation down.

“No, I have a feeling in my gut,” Ginny muttered.

“In your uterus?”

“No, in my metaphorical gut,” Ginny barked.

“Ginny you need to calm down and tell me what’s going on,” Hermione urged.

Her friend just shook her head. “I play Quidditch and Harry’s an Auror. We both work dangerous jobs. I mean, Harry—Harry could die whenever.”

Hermione conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her sobbing friend. “Gin, Harry’s not going anywhere,” she murmured, trying to offer solace.

“My life is a disaster; everything is always a disaster and I don’t want this to be a disaster! I don’t want to move or breathe. I don’t want to do anything. What if I do something and it messes this baby up? What if I do something wrong and the baby dies?” Ginny sobbed.

With the hand resting on Ginny’s shoulder, Hermione started rubbing small comforting circles into the other girl’s robes. “You’ll do fine, Gin, Shhh…”

While trying to get her friend to calm down, a thought struck Hermione. “I know it is slightly too early, but we can run a quick scan to see if we can find the baby’s heartbeat,” she offered, not being able to think of anything else that might reassure her over-emotional friend.

“Please,” Ginny hiccupped. 

Hermione instructed Ginny to lay down on the cot she was occupying. She opened Ginny’s robes and rolled up her undershirt to expose her bare belly. With her wand over the exposed flesh, Hermione muttered _Infans Pulsatio_ , then began moving her wand up and down Ginny’s belly, trying to locate a heartbeat. After several minutes, Hermione finally found it.

“Look, Gin,” she told her friend, pointing to the smoky three-dimensional image above her belly. One could make out a tiny flutter in the hazy mist.

“That’s the heart?” Ginny asked, looking elated. “Can you tell the gender too?”

“I can try,” Hermione told her. Keeping her wand steady over the same place she had found the heartbeat. She inhaled a sharp breath then muttered _Genus Revilio_. Hermione smiled when Ginny’s belly glowed slightly green.

“It’s a baby boy!” She told her friend.

Ginny smiled, bringing her hands up to wipe at her sodden cheeks. “Baby James,” she whispered, bringing one hand down to cup her still nearly flat tummy.

* * *

Ginny left thirty minutes later, much to Munter's relief. Hermione caught herself wondering why Munter had wanted to become a healer. He seemed to be both clever and smart, but when it came to patient care and bedside manner, he was sorely lacking. Munter acted detach when talking about cases and had a tendency to forget anything that wasn't deemed medically necessary.

When wishing Ginny farewell, Munter had had to be reminded of the red-head's name.

Ginny had insisted Hermione come to dinner the next evening, and she'd agreed happily, glad to spend some time with friends outside the hospital. 

St. Mungo’s slowed down a bit after the Quidditch players were cleared out, and the trainees were able to catch some sleep in the on-call rooms.

Rolf Cattermole had been through a rough evening. He’d nearly caused a patient to drown instead of clearing their throat and had been chewed out by both Pucey and Smethwyck for his mistake.

“Come on, Rolf. It’s not like you actually killed someone! You just made a mistake,” Hermione told him as they all lay in the several bunkbeds inside the on-call room.

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one nicknamed A-K,” Rolf muttered back.  

“A-K?” Theo shot in, yawning.  

“You know, the Killing Curse—licensed to kill,” Christina explained.

“They’re calling you A-K because you nearly killed a patient? That’s hilarious!” Theo laughed. He was laying on the top bunk of Hermione’s bed, and his laughter shook the entire bed frame.

She opened her eyes to see Rolf stalking out of the room.

“I’m going to check on a few patients,” Cattermole muttered over his shoulder as he slammed the door.

“Great job, Nott,” Christina whispered.

“Oh, please,” Theo answered. “They make it hard on purpose. There are lives in our hands. He should be a bit upset.”

* * *

The trainees got up for morning rounds a bit before five.

“I’ve received complaints about your bedside manner,” Pucey seethed when they entered the locker room. “From the Quidditch players.”

He was obviously tired, looking as though he’d been up all night. His expression was grim, and Hermione swallowed.

“Now, for rounds, I want you all to remember something,” Pucey continued. “You are the first person these patients see in the morning. You will say please, and thank you, and you WILL apologies for waking them up so early. I want you trolls to make them feel comfortable because then they’ll talk to you.”

He paused for a moment, eyeing them all.

“Why is that important?” He asked. The rest of the room stayed quiet. 

“Well, I’ll tell you —,” Adrian continued “— because then you can tell your supervisor, me, what he needs to know during rounds, and why is that important? Because if you make your supervisor look bad, he’ll curse you till you beg for your mum!”

If a pin had been dropped on the ground floor, one would have been able to hear it in the silence that followed.

“Christina, Hermann: I want pre-rounds done by 5:30 AM!” Adrian barked. “Rolf, Theo, Hermione, head down to the ground floor. Healer Melanie Wainscott needs assistants with a case, ward 06.”

Nobody moved.

“Run along!” Pucey bellowed and the trainees scattered, fleeing like mice from a hungry cat.

When the three trainees entered the Artefact Accident ward, a large commotion met their eyes. Several Mediwitches, as well as an EMT (Emergency Magical Transporter) and Healer Wainscott, were gathered around a table.

They walked closer to get a look at the patient obscured by the many people in front of him.

“By Godric’s grace,” Hermione breathed, unable to believe what she was seeing.

The wizard on the cot in front of her had several forks and knives sticking out of his skull in odd angles. The man was blinking rapidly, breath heavy.

“His wife sent the entire cutlery drawer after him when he refused to set the table for breakfast,” one of the Mediwitches explained as she took in the newcomer’s facial expressions.

“I can’t see, I—I’m blind. I can’t see!” The man on the table cried.

Hermione grabbed his wrist. “It’s okay, we need you to be very still Mr…”

“Elias Mopsus,” the same Mediwitch supplied.

“—Mr. Mopsus.”

Elias twisted his hand to grip Hermione’s fiercely.

“His optic nerve has been affected. It’s no small miracle that he’s still alive, much less awake. Granger, what is our main concern at this stage?” Wainscott asked while her wand kept running up and down the patient’s skull, performing several different diagnostics.  

“Infection, Ma’am.”

“Good, I want these utensils out of his head within half an hour. I’m running all the diagnostics I can think of. You two,” she pointed to Rolf and Theo, “go dig up research to see if this has ever happened before. Granger, run a toxicology screen on him to see whether any of the silverware is laced with poison, then check for curses.”

“My wife... Where s—…”

“Your wife was taken into the Ministry by the MLE, Mr. Mopsus,” Wainscott supplied.

“Oh no! She didn’t mean it! She’s rather grumpy in the morning -- they have to let her go!” Mopsus agonized.

“Will he be able to see again?” Hermione asked the Healer-in-Charge as she started casting diagnostics of her own, studying the images that met her eyes.

“I can’t be certain,” sighed Wainscott.

Nott and Cattermole were able to dig up five other cases of cutlery induced harm to the head within fifteen minutes. It did not help. Head Healer Smethwyck joined the rest of the healers in ward 06 and the healers got ready to start extracting the foreign objects without truly knowing what would happen when they started. The room filled with anxiety as Elias was given a dose of ‘Draught of Living Dead’.

Hermione had been unable to discover any poisons or curses on the objects. It seemed as though Mr. Mopsus’ wife simply had done what she’d done because she was not a morning person.

“As we can see, the patient was hit by nine utensils that all have pierced his skull and entered his brain. His most significant injury is damage to his optic nerve, and we might be able to save it. But we cannot know that now,” Smethwyck began as they all gathered around the table.

Hermione was set to monitor a diagnostic of the patient’s skull to look for internal bleeding as the other four healers got to work.

“The idea is to remove the silverware at the exact angle that it entered. We need to use a slicing charm to cut a circle of the surrounding bone out before we begin extracting. Movement might cause a brain bleed, so be very careful! Once one utensil has been removed, we need to perform the _Crescerio Cerebri Corpus_ charm to both heal and grow the brain tissue,” Wainscot cautioned. “Hermione will make sure to look for too much swelling. Be careful though, if cast too many times or with too much force it might cause his brain to swell and cause more damage.”

The healers got to work while Hermione watched the diagnostic. It was a slow process. She had to monitor for both swelling and bleeding at the same time while four separate healers extracted the nine forks and knives. As they finished, she heard Wainscott sigh.  

“The only remaining question is whether or not he can see,” the other female healer commented as the last knife clattered onto the table.

“Should I run diagnostics?” Hermione queried.

“No—No, he needs to stabilize. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

The operation had taken most of the morning. When Hermione finished work at twelve, she quickly changed and then got on the tube to go see her mother.

* * *

“I feel like I’ve finally gotten settled a bit back here in London,” Hermione told her mum, Cordelia, as they settled down for tea and scones in the winter garden of the nursing home. Her mum was much the same as she’d been on Hermione’s two other visits—non-responsive, and unable to remember her daughter.

“The other trainees are great. I’ve made some new friends. Ginny, Ron’s sister, is pregnant and she came to the hospital yesterday. She’s having a baby boy,” Hermione continued while her mother kept twisting her wedding band, round and round on her finger.

“Are you the doctor?” Cordelia tentatively asked, snapping Hermione out of her chatter.

Hermione inwardly sighed. “No, I’m not your doctor, but I am a doctor,” she said, voice steady though her heart was breaking.  

“What’s your name?” Her mum asked, still twirling the gold band.

“It’s me, Hermione.”

“All right.” The ring still swirled around her mother’s thin fingers. “I used to be a doctor—I think,” Cordelia whispered, unsure.

Hermione grabbed her mother’s hand from across the table, stopping the spinning ring and gazing into her mother’s eyes. “You were a doctor, Mum; you were a Doctor of Dental Surgery.”

“Do you know when Wendell will be here?”

Hermione still had her mother’s hand trapped in her grasp, and she tightened her hold.

“Dad’s not coming today, Mum.”

* * *

Hermione went home and immediately fell asleep on the couch for a few hours. She knew she couldn’t really rest since she had dinner plans that evening.

Hermione dreamt of her dad.

It happened quite frequently. They’d sit together, have intricate conversations about life and death and, in some cases, nothing of consequence. 

She remembered her father’s clothes clearly in her dream. It was the same outfit he’d been wearing the day he forgot her. Forgot he had a daughter. A beige cardigan and a white shirt, dark wash jeans and New Balance sneakers on his feet.

It had been a weekend. Wendell always wore slacks during the workweek.

Hermione did not, however, remember his face clearly. It was beginning to fade from her memory little by little. In her dreams, he would no longer meet her eyes.

It might be because his face changed. Because it had different expressions. His clothes did not.

Her dad had always been someone she’d admired. He’d been a confident man, old, experienced. He'd been someone who’d been open to the world around him.

That afternoon, she dreamt they were walking along a forest path. They were in the Forest of Dean, and the sun was shining through the branches of the tall trees, powdering the two travelers with the snow of light.

“I’m sorry that you died,” she told him, eyes cast down on the spindly roots that littered their walkway and made their path difficult to navigate.

He laughed. “Why do you care that I died when you’re still so afraid of living yourself?”

Hermione woke up with saltwater spilling down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.
> 
> References:  
> \- The ‘ultrasound’ scene is much inspired by Callie Torres’s OB-GYN appointment in episode 13x07 of Grey’s Anatomy.  
> \- The scene with Hermione and her mum is inspired by the scene of Meredith and Ellis on Greys Anatomy 01x01.  
> \- The A-K reference is based on George’s 007 references on Greys Anatomy 01x01.


	9. A Dog’s Dinner

**Thursday, 22 ndof August 2002**

Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place at a quarter past seven. She was late.

After waking up from her dream, Hermione had been inclined to cancel. She didn’t feel like she would be great company in the mood she was in. However, she had decided to come, thinking her friends may be able to cheer her up with their good humor.

As she entered through the front door, she could make out several voices from the kitchen. Ron’s boisterous laugh hit her in the face like a sucker punch and she staggered back several feet, hitting the now closed door behind her.

Hermione had not been prepared for there to be anyone besides Ginny and Harry present. She hoped Ron was the only additional guest.

She had yet to see Ron and was glad to have the chance, even if she wished she’d been prepared and more cheerful.

The host came stumbling out into the entrance hall, wine glass in hand and a boyish grin on his face.

“Mione, you made it!” Harry exclaimed happily, running over to her and kissing her cheek.

Hermione blushed.

“Let me take your coat,” he offered jovially, once their shared embrace ended.

She shrugged out of her light summer jacket, emptying her pocket of the shrunken bottle of Barbera d'Asti she’d brought for dinner, and handing him the garment.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to come. I-I, sorry, that was rude. What I meant was that I didn’t want to leave home.”

“Bad day?” His voice sounded concerned, not offended.

She looked down, away from his green, open eyes. His eyes always seemed to see more than she was willing to display. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you decided to come!” Harry emphasized the word glad, making the sentence sound less genuine.

At that moment, another peal of laughter sounded from the kitchen. Harry smiled at her. “Ron’s here, too.” It came out sounding a bit like a question, like he was asking her permission to invite Ron to join their dinner.

Hermione nodded, giving a half-smile back.

The host turned towards the closet and took out a hanger for her jacket while Hermione started walking towards the kitchen.

Ron’s face was the first thing she saw as she rounded the corner from the hall. His face, red with laughter, was cheerful — like a Christmas card.

“Mione,” he exclaimed as he caught sight of her, getting up, and rushing over. He nearly knocked down the bottle of red that was sitting next to him in his haste.

Ron hugged her close, crushed her to him as though the lack of space between their bodies could erase the years of distance they’d gone through.

“Hey, you,” she told him as he released her from his death grip. Ron ruffled her curly hair. She patted it back down.

"Hasn't changed much, has he?" Harry mumbled from behind them, and everyone grinned.

The joyous mood simmered down as the guests settled around the table.

“It’s been too long.” Ron’s tone was pained.

“Yeah,” Hermione whispered back, holding his gaze.

A large pot of creamy spaghetti alfredo was brought to the table.

The old friends played catch up, talking about what they’d all been up to recently. The mood was slightly somber—they all thought about the last time they’d had a meal together, how much had changed, how much was still the same. It was a strange sort of mood, both happy and sad all at the same time.

“Mum wants you to stop by the house soon, Hermione,” Ginny told her as they were finishing their last bits of dinner.

The red-headed girl was twirling her fork, round and round. It made Hermione think of her own mother, Cordelia twirling her ring round and round in the same movement. She snapped back to the present.

“I’ll see to it the next time I have some ti—”

“I just remembered something,” Harry exclaimed. All faces snapped to look at him. “Hermione, you’ll never guess who I ran into earlier today!”

“—Who?”

“Malfoy—” Harry swallowed. “—Ran into him in the waiting room as I was going to see my Mind Healer today. He told me you’d been talking of late, that he’d been hospitalized due to a curse on his arm.”

Ron was frowning, though he did not interrupt the raven-haired man yet.

“Yeah,” Hermione answered, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “He was under my primary care for a bit more than a week.”

Ron snorted. “Still as slimy as he’s always been?”

The question was phrased like a statement, like whatever she might say would never convince him otherwise. Hermione hesitated. What could she tell them? Malfoy was nothing like she’d expected. Then again, she’d never really known him. Not really. None of them had. They’d only thought they’d known him.

“He seems different,” Harry answered before she could find her own voice. She nodded. Harry continued. “Seems like he’s changed a lot, grown up, less arrogant at least. I honestly believe he regrets what happened during the war. He was nearly nice to me.” He flushed the words down with some wine—as though his throat had constricted at the fact that he’d called Malfoy nice.

_Nearly nice._

“I couldn’t quite believe it when he started conversing with me in that waiting room. I sort of believed he would snarl when he first caught sight of me.”

Ron grumbled. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he stated. Ginny raised her glass of water towards him as though she was saying ‘hear, hear’.

The subject was making Hermione nauseous. She didn’t want to talk about Malfoy, not with them. She needed the subject dropped.

“So, are you seeing anyone currently?” Hermione asked Ron, a bit too forcefully.

He halted, eyed her, then answered. “No, just going on dates. No one woman in particular. What about you?”

She choked on her wine. Surely, he knew she wasn’t. She readied herself to say no, then she remembered—Munter. “Not rea—, uhm, I have a date this weekend, actually.”

Ron spit his wine. Ginny coughed. Harry stayed quiet.

Pebbled drops of wine were soaking the white table cloth, seeping into the ivory linen fabric, like drops of blood on white sheets. Like Malfoy’s constantly bleeding nail beds staining his bedding.

_Merlin._

The room was quiet for a bit too long. Ginny still hadn’t said anything. The redhead usually would have been jumping up and down at news like this. Why was she staying so still?

Her brother broke the silence. “So, who’s the guy?” Ron was patting his chin with his napkin.

“Just someone from the hospital,” Hermione hesitated.

“Like, Malfoy? Merlin, Hermione, he nearly killed me!”

“That was an accident.”

“Really?” Ron’s face had turned red again. Not from laughter,  but from anger this time. He no longer looked like a Christmas card. He looked like a flame.

“It’s not Malfoy,” Hermione mumbled though Ron had started ranting.

“He bullied you all through school. How could you agree to go out with that slimy prick? Honestly, Hermione, how could… — It’s not?”

“No. It’s someone from my program. You wouldn’t know him.”

“Oh.” Ron’s flame of anger dimmed out.

Ginny piped up. “Who?” She asked eagerly.

“His name is Hermann Munter.”

“The blonde that treated me?” Ginny squeaked.

Hermione nodded.

“When did he ask you?” Ginny queried.  

“Uhm, last Sunday.”

“Are you excited?”

_Not in the slightest._

“Yeah,” Hermione faked a bright smile. They didn’t seem to buy it.

“Do you like him?” Ginny continued to press.  

“He’s nice enough. I don’t really know him. It’s the first date. I guess we’ll see.”

“Wouldn’t it be awkward if things didn’t go well? I mean, you work together.” Harry shot in. He was always the voice of reason.

 _Shit,_ Hermione hadn’t thought of that.

“I’m sure it will be fine, Harry!” Ginny continued. The redhead prosed on, asking question after question. Hermione’s answers were short, never elaborative since she hadn’t really given Munter much thought. After a minute, the other girl grew bored and they moved on to other topics of conversation.

* * *

Hermione headed to the washroom while Harry started on the dishes. Ron stayed at the table, finishing off his wine while listening to Ginny tell the detailed tale of the Harpies’ latest Quidditch match.

The dinner had been a bit of a mess. A real dog’s dinner, leaving both stains on the linen and the mood.

Everyone at the table had seemed both uncomfortable and determined to make the dinner work.

Hermione appreciated the effort. They’d all been trying. She knew she was the reason the mood had been strained; knew her friends’ evening would have been a lot more cheerful minus one guest. She shouldn’t have come.

On her way back from the bathroom, Hermione lingered in the hall for a bit. She was enjoying the familiar lull of her old friends’ voices while not really listening to their words, only their tenor. She missed how comfortable they’d all been with each other at one point. Was that peace now all in the past?

“She’s so quiet,” Ron was saying, and Hermione realized, from her position in the hall, that he was talking about her. “I mean, she used to be so talkative, so full of opinions. Now she seems…flat.”

Harry answered him a bit forcefully. “She’s really trying, Ron. Looks better than she did a week ago when we first saw her. Right, Gin?”

“Yeah, give her some credit,” Ginny supplied.

Hermione had heard enough. Eavesdroppers never heard any good of themselves anyway. She entered the room.

“Ah, there you are! Dessert in the sitting room?” Ginny inquired from her seat at the dinner table. “Maybe we could open that bottle of red you brought? I'm sure it's lovely though I won't be able to sample it.” She gestured to her stomach. 

Hermione swallowed. “Sorry, I ought to get going actually. Rounds start at 5 AM tomorrow and I need to get to bed.” It was not a lie.

Harry nodded. He lifted his hands from the soapsuds in the sink and dried them off. “Of course.” He hugged her tightly. “Come back soon, yeah?”

Hermione hugged him tighter in answer.

The Weasley siblings hugged her in turn, wishing her a good night and she left Grimmauld for the pavement outside. She Apparated away in a blur.

Hermione landed next to her kitchen window and glanced out on reflex, looking for the stranger who had taken residence outside. He was there. Smoking away on a lit cigarette, puffing in slow, eased exhales. She turned away from the window.

In her bedroom, Hermione retrieved a scroll of parchment, a quill, and ink.

She wanted to write Malfoy. What Harry had mentioned during dinner had made her curious, and she needed to hear from him. They had not spoken since he’d left the hospital and she wanted to keep her promise of staying in touch. She doubted he’d be the one to contact her first.

 _Malfoy,_ she wrote.

_I haven’t heard from you since you were discharged, nearly a week ago._

_I just arrived home from dinner at Harry’s and he told me you’d run into each other. I’m glad to hear that you’ve already sought out a mind-healer. How was your first session?_

_Hope all is well._

_\- Granger_

Hermione rolled up the parchment. Her owl, Hadwin, was already settled next to her kitchen window, having moved there as soon as he saw her retrieving the parchment. She tied the scroll to his leg and instructed him to fly to Wiltshire—to Malfoy Manor. The owl crooked its head at her request but did not protest any further. She opened the window and the bird fluttered off into the night. The man was still standing in the street, watching as she locked the glass shut.

An hour after heading to bed, she was still wide awake. She got up, deciding to pace for a bit.

She got into the kitchen, not bothering with the lights. Hermione stood in the dark room for a long time, letting her eyes dilate like a cat’s. A being of the night. Like the man outside?

She felt a craving come over her. She wanted to see, needed to check, ran over to the window. He was finally gone.

She stayed by the window for a bit, looking towards the darkness above. The sky was clear though hard to see due to the lights of the city polluting everything around them. She could not make out the stars, but after a minute of searching, located the moon.

Suddenly she caught sight of an owl flying towards her. It was not Hadwin, but she opened the window for the pretty bird who landed just inside. With shaky fingers, she undid the knot around the bird’s leg and unrolled the scroll of parchment. It was a reply from Malfoy.

His owl took off again, and she walked into the bedroom, turned on the nightlight and sat down to greedily read what her blond friend had to say.

 _Granger,_ he wrote.

_To answer your first question, I am actually quite well, thank you._

_I’m pleased that you finally gathered up some Gryffindor courage to pick up the quill and write me. I knew you’d miss me too much to resist._

_As for your second question, the mind healer was a lot different than what I’d imagined; less serious, more hopeful. I haven’t decided whether or not I like him yet, time will tell, but I am going back._

_I was expecting the two of us to talk about my past for our first session. We ended up talking about the future instead._

_His main focus seems to be on my will to get better. We ended up talking about what I deemed to be important in my life. Your name did come up… sure go ahead, flatter yourself. I only mentioned you in passing. Mostly I talked about my mother and rebuilding/maintaining the relationships with the people close to me._

_I’ll be going to France over the weekend with Theo and Blaise to meet up with Pansy. It will be a reunion of sorts. It will be awkward, but it might be a start._

_Well, unless Pansy kills me for pushing her away initially, then it might be an ending._

_I’ll be back on Monday (if I survive). Maybe we could meet up Tuesday evening? I know you get off your shift at noon, and surely need some sleep after that._

_Is it strange that I know your schedule?_

_Talk soon.  
Draco Malfoy_

A small smile was playing on her lips as she finished the letter. Tucking it into her nightstand drawer, she switched off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading. This fic just surpassed 2000 hits and has gotten nearly 100kudos. I’m glad so many people like it! I have not been able to write a lot lately, due to working all summer, but don’t worry—the next couple of chapters are done.  
> I have two weeks off before uni starts up again and I’m planning on getting a lot of writing done. I’m house-sitting my friend's cat, Sonja, so I’ll have a furry friend to keep me company while I write too, haha. As always, reviews are much appreciated!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	10. Here Be Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY!

**Saturday, 24th of August 2002**

Hermione was running late. She was rushing around looking for her only date-appropriate shoes when the doorbell rang. Running over to it, she swung the door open and gestured for Hermann to step through.

He studied the space as he entered, then his eyes landed on her.

“I’m running a bit late, but I’m nearly finished,” she told him, rushing back into the bedroom.

She heard him take a seat on the sofa. “Take your time,” he told her cheerily. “Nice place, it looks smaller from the outside,” he continued.

She poked her head out of her bedroom door, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, I’spose it does.”

She went back to hunting for the shoes and found them a moment later.

After putting them on, Hermione strode into her living space and smiled at Hermann as she shrugged on her light jacket. She made sure to put her wand in her pocket, then slung her small cross-body purse over her shoulder.

“Ready?” He asked her, his eyes running up and down her slim form.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Hermann took her to a small restaurant called North Sea Fish that specialized in homemade fish and chips. It was only a short walk from where she lived on Burton Street and they strode side by side enjoying quiet conversation.

Once seated at the table, they ordered onion rings, salads, and two portions of the cod fillet as well as some lager beer and continued to converse while they waited for their food to arrive.

Munter asked a lot of questions, obviously wanting to get to know her, but seemed to be rather coy when Hermione asked questions of her own. She didn’t really know what to make of him; sure, he was nice enough, but at the same time there was something about him that made her a bit… uncomfortable. Maybe it was in the way he was watching her, as though hungry for something she knew nothing about.

When their main course had been devoured, Hermione gathered her courage. “I’m sorry Hermann, this has been really nice, but I—I can already tell we could never be more than friends,” she told him.

“How so?” He asked her. She couldn’t decipher the meaning behind his tone—it was as though he had built a wall around himself, blocking the view.

“I just, I like you, don’t get me wrong, but just as a friend,” Hermione tried to explain.

Hermann nodded. “I see,” he said finally, after studying her for far too long.

Even after the awkwardness that had transpired, Munter insisted on getting dessert. They ended up sharing a plate of the apple crumble while sipping on Irish Coffees. The conversation continued to flow in the same manner it had all through their dinner, with him shooting quickfire questions at her.

“Let’s go for a stroll,” Munter suggested as they were making their way out of the restaurant.

Hermione hesitated.

“Come on, surely you can stroll with just a friend too, Hermione.” Munter’s tone sounded mocking.  He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, as well as a box of matches.

As he lit the fag, a memory formed in Hermione’s mind, somehow triggered by the grey smoke he was exhaling.

Hermione froze. She saw a cloaked figure on the street outside her flat, lighting matches and puffing hazy mist in the same slow rhythm as Hermann was doing at that very moment. Dread filled her entire being and she tried to calm her breathing.

“You know, I’m not feeling all that well. Maybe another time?” She asked, trying to play it cool. It could be nothing, but she didn’t feel like continuing their date. She was anxious.

He looked at her. “Oh, do you want me to walk you home?” A line formed between his brows as he studied her expression.

“No, that’s fine, I can walk myself.”

Hermann tried to argue but after a few beats gave up and bid her goodnight.

Hermione walked quickly, feeling as though someone was following her. She kept glancing over her shoulder but never caught sight of anyone.

She regretted her choice of shoes now. They clattered on the sidewalk, too high for her to sprint. Why had she chosen to wear her only pair of heels? They weren’t high, but they still made her walk stilted. Almost toppling her. Almost.

Her fear beat down on her as though Death himself had singled her out as his next victim and was stalking her with his black shadow, completely enveloping her in the darkness. It was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused her to feel, although she did not see, the presence of her attacker behind her in the alleyway.

She tried to quell her suspicions, but it was all in vain. The fear was ever-growing, and she gripped her wand tightly in the pocket of her jacket considering whether she could just Apparate on the spot, but there were Muggles on the other side of the street she was walking down.

A low, slight sound arose from the depths of her soul and escaped as a groan. She knew the sound well— it was neither a groan of pain nor grief. It was a groan of mortal terror. She’d heard it on many occasions during the war, and hearing it now was like a dreadful echo of the past.

Hermione turned the corner onto Burton Street and found the street empty in front of her. Her heartbeat increased. She started jogging towards the end of the street where her flat was located.

A crack of apparition sounded in front of her and she ran straight into the solid figure that had appeared right in her way. Munter’s hands closed around hers and her wand clattered onto the pavement.

She swallowed.

“Now, now,” her attacker scolded. “No reason for dramatics, ey?”

Hermione thrust her chin upwards. “Have you been following me?” She asked him, voice steadier than she thought possible.

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you made it home safely,” he hissed in a menacing voice. “After all, you were feeling unwell.”

“You’re the one who’s been standing outside my apartment, aren’t you?” She demanded.

Hermann ignored her question and started prosing on his own accord. “I’ve been brewing Polyjuice for months, and finally last week I finished the potion and took some of your hair—"

“That was you, you went through my locker?” She gasped.

“I paid a common whore to turn into you, Granger, and I fucked her till she screamed, while she smelled of your perfume. I had hoped to sample the real goods tonight,” he told her. He was gripping her arms so tightly she could feel bruises forming. "But, you just want to be friends." He hissed the last syllebal—sounding much like a snake. 

“Please, Hermann, stop” Hermione begged, and Munter had the gall to laugh.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make it so good for you. Now, invite me in like the good little girl you are,” he commanded, tilting his head towards her front door.  He gathered both her wrists in one fist and bent down to retrieve her wand from the ground, tucking it into his inside pocket.

When he was on one knee in front of her, Hermione thrust her knee up, hitting him squarely in the nose. Blood started rushing down his face instantly and he let go of her wrists, hands coming up to clutch at his swelling face.

Hermione fell down. She tried to get back up, to run away, but Munter caught her by the hair and she was yanked roughly, pulled back.

Hermann twisted her around to face him and snarled.

“You fucking BITCH!” He bit out, blood still streaming down his face, into his foul mouth.

His hand was at the back of her nape and he pushed her face into the pavement. Hermione could feel the rough asphalt digging into her cheek, breaking the skin. She felt her cheek grow damp as droplets of blood dribbled out of the crying wound much like tears. Hermione’s vision blurred slightly.

“Don’t you ever try anything like that again,” Munter yelled from his position above her.

She felt a soft sob escape her lips and she bit down on her tongue to make it stop.

Hermann yanked her head back then smashed it into the pavement once more. “Do you understand me?” He hissed.

Hermione’s vision blurred slightly. She could taste blood.

“Ye—yes,” she sobbed, tears now streaming freely.

She felt Hermann press his wand to the side of her head, and he guided her to her feet. Black spots formed in front of her eyes as she stood upright. Hermione had to blink several times to clear her vision.

“Get inside,” her attacker hissed into her ear, wand still pressed to her temple.

A combination of blood and tears ran freely down her neck. It made her loose hair stick to her skin in great chunks of curly mess.

Hermione walked forward. Went up the stairs. Retrieved her key from her purse and unlocked the door.

Munter kept one hand on her lower back and the other was holding his wand to her head. He guided her into the bedroom, twirled her around and pushed her up against the wall

His forearm was pressing into her throat, nearly lifting her from the ground. He leaned in, inhaling her scent, before running his tongue up her cheek, tasting the falling droplets. He hummed deep in his throat.

He leaned into her, hissing into her ear, biting the lobe roughly. “Why do you fight me, Hermione?”

She whimpered.

“I was always the one remembering to include you, inviting you along with the rest of us. I was always the one who cared. The others, they, they don’t care about you, me on the other hand—” he prosed on.

 _She needed to get away! Unconsciousness was creeping up on her and she begged herself to stay awake_ — _get away!_

Hermione knew she couldn't physically best anyone on her best day, especially a full-grown man. Her mind was spinning. It, her mind, the only weapon she had left. She had to think. Find an escape route. Figure something out. Something.

Her apartment keys were still clutched in her tight fist and she positioned the key more firmly in her shaking hand—the metal was biting into the soft flesh of her fingers.

Hermann leaned in, kissed the corner of her mouth and she twisted her head, trying to get away from him. A wail tore from her throat. He did not drop his wand from her temple.

As his lips touched hers, Hermione drew her hand back, and with all the strength she could muster, she jammed her hand forward, sharp metal aimed at his eye.

Munter let out an enraged roar, staggered backward, tripped—and finally lost hold of his precious wand. The wooden stick clattered loudly to the ground. Hermione dove for it.

Her head was spinning, and she blinked frantically to clear her vision. She fumbled around on the floor, caught hold of the wand, and then twirled around.

Munter was coming towards her. The key had punctured his eye, and blood was gushing down his cheek.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Hermione roared at the figure closing in on her. His body dropped to the ground with a loud bang that reverberated through her entire apartment.

She got to her feet and bolted from the room, wand still in her grasp. Hermione ran, fleeing her own apartment. Sprinted. Her shoes fell off her feet, and still, she ran, leaving the clattering heels on the ground. Her blood filled with adrenalin. She ran.

Before long, she could make out the storefront of Purge & Dowse Ltd. Tears were streaming from her face and she beckoned for the hideous mannequin to understand that she needed to enter.

It nodded its head, and she strode through the glass, falling to her knees when she was safely inside. The stone floor was ice cold under her bare shins.

The healer-on-call in the entrance hall was Poke. He caught sight of her kneeling figure and rushed over.

“Miss Granger, what happened to you?” He asked, concern filling his otherwise steady voice.

Hermione let the wand clatter to the ground in front of her. She inhaled an excruciating gust of air that rasped in her throat. She could taste blood. Had she tasted blood before she fled? Was it due to her aching lungs or something worse?

“Take it!” She felt like she was screaming though it might have only been a whisper. “Just take it!”

Poke looked questioningly at the wooden stick. He got to one knee, tried to touch Hermione's shoulder, but she shrank away from his touch. The healer’s brows furrowed, and Hermione met his eyes.

Tears were streaming down her sodden face and she struggled to breathe.  She felt numb and started shivering, feeling the imprint of Hermann’s hands like an icy grasp at the back of her neck. It was terrible. Everything was terrible. Hermione’s mind flooded with the things she wasn’t able to share, the room filling with all the words she wasn’t exchanging.

“He tried to— to touch me,” she convulsively gasped.  

“Who’s he?” Poke stressed, tone icy, voice menacing.

“Hermann Munter,” Hermione lamented.

Someone else bent down next to her shaking figure.  The newcomer put an arm around her trembling shoulders. Hermione looked up to see the Welcome-Witch next to her.

“Come along now, Hermione,” the older woman told her in a motherly voice.

Hermione shook her head.

“He’s still in my flat,” she croaked out. “I—I stunned him.”

The two hospital employees on call exchanged a look.

“Where do you live?” Poke asked.

“15 Burton Street,” Hermione bawled. 

She realized she’d never even given Munter her address. How could she have let that pass her by?

“I’ll take care of it,” Poke fumed. His voice was so sharp it sliced through the air like a knife. A moment later he was gone.

* * *

Hermione was taken to a general examination room and after a short while, Head Healer Smethwyck entered.

He was carrying a bottle of dittany as well as a few other potions with him.

“Let’s get your face cleaned up,” he told her in a comforting voice. He ran a quick diagnostic on her and gave her a few of the potions before he started applying the dittany to the scrapes that covered her face.

“You have a small hairline fracture,” he told her in a steady voice.

Quickly he performed the appropriate spell to heal her head, and she felt a slight crack the reverberated on the inside of her skull.

“I want you to stay in the hospital overnight for observation. We also need to talk—we can do that now or tomorrow morning, that’s up to you.”

Traitorous tears were still running down her face, making her feel small and weak.

Hermione tried to take a calming breath, head still ringing slightly. “I’d rather get it over with now,” she told him in earnest. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Taking her time, she told the Head Healer about her date and what followed. She supplied him with vials of memories of both the event as well as her memories of the figure outside her window. He would take the case to Magical Law Enforcement and inform them of what had happened. He informed her that Poke had found Munter inside her flat, and the Aurors had been contacted.

Smethwyck reassured Hermione that no matter what happened next, Munter would not be allowed to continue as a trainee.

A cot was prepared for her on the fourth floor, and the head Healer bid her goodnight after dosing her with Dreamless Sleep. Smethwyck wished her well, knowing that Hermione could not really be comforted. Only certain sorrows could be vanished with kind words and well-wishes, others could not; that was the tragic fact of being human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nervous about posting this... Reviews are much appreciated!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.
> 
> References:  
> “It was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused her to feel, although she did not see him, the presence of her attacker behind her in the alleyway.”  
> — This part of the chapter was deeply inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s short story ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’.


	11. Facing the Music

Hermione was tired when she woke, but not the kind of tired sleep would help. She was tired in that way where life had exhausted her, in a way where all she wanted was to take a break—from everything, from everyone. 

She kept her eyes closed for a long while before the reality of what had transpired the evening before crept up on her. The pain of her memories acted like a poison, contaminating her bloodstream and spreading through her body. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt bile rising from her stomach. Shooting out of bed, Hermione crouched next to the bin and started retching. After a moment, a Mediwitch bent down next to her and held her hair back as dry heaves shook her small frame. 

“That’s it, honey, get it out,” the other woman reassured, putting her other hand on Hermione’s back and rubbing circles against the hospital nightshirt she was wearing. 

Someone else handed her a glass of water, and Hermione took a large gulp while still seated on the floor. 

With wobbly legs, she got to her feet and sat down on the edge of her cot. Her body was still trembling. Her attacker’s touch still lingered on her skin. 

Hermione wanted to cry, howl, scream, but nothing came out. She was trapped in a sort of sad sickness where she didn’t think she could feel any worse. She’d experienced it before, knew how it felt to reach the bottom. Since the war, she had known it pretty often—too often. 

The Mediwitch sat down next to her and brushed stray strands of hair from her face. She proceeded to hand Hermione a few potions. 

“These will help you,” the woman reassured. 

Hermione downed them, grimacing. 

“Is there anyone you’d like me to contact for you, dear?” The Mediwitch proceeded. “Anyone who can come pick you up, take you home?”

Her breath halted on its way out of her. “I—I don’t want to go home,” Hermione stuttered. 

The woman patted her back. “Is there anyone you could stay with then?” The Mediwitch’s voice was soft, motherly. “Maybe your family?”

“Maybe my friend Harry?” Hermione questioned. 

“I could contact him, just give me the details.”

Hermione swallowed. “My wand. I—I don’t have my wand,” she told the other woman.

“Not to worry, dear. The Aurors left it with us at the station. I’ll give it to you before you leave.”

“Oh… okay.”

* * *

It took Harry an hour to get there after receiving a Patronus. In that time,  the rumor of what happened between her and Munter had spread around the hospital like Fiendfyre. Several employees came to check on her, Poke included, though he was not on call. As much as Hermione appreciated the concern and love, she hated the attention. 

When Harry strode in, her other visitors scurried like mice. He didn’t say anything at first, only clasped her hand tightly, sitting down next to her. Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked after a while. 

She blinked her eyes open. “I’m tired,” Hermione told him, truthfully.  “I’d never thought I’d be this tired at twenty-two.”

Harry gave her hand another squeeze. “Let’s get you home,” he stated. She understood that he didn’t mean her home, but Grimmauld, which had been a home of sorts, too, once upon a time. 

 

* * *

Ginny was there when they came through the front door. She wrapped Hermione in a tight embrace, whispering soothing words into her friend’s ear. 

“Let’s draw you a bath, shall we?” Ginny asked. “Or maybe you’re hungry?”

Hermione shook her head. 

The youngest Weasley led her upstairs to the master bathroom where candles were lit, throwing soft light across the room. Ginny filled the lion-footed bathtub with warm water that smelled of citrus. 

“I hope the scent is okay; it’s the only one I know,” Ginny shrugged sheepishly. Hermione nodded. She was glad it smelled nothing like her perfume.

The tub steamed like a cup of tea, looking inviting. 

“You’re white as a sheet.” There was sadness in the redhead’s eyes. 

That was how Hermione felt. Flat. Spread too thin. Transparent. If held up to the light, Hermione was sure she would have looked see-through, as though there wasn’t much left of her. Like a mirage, she would be fading before their eyes. 

Except. Except they still saw her, though not clearly, not truly. She was not watched under a giant light, merely under flickering candles in a dark bathroom. She was truly a mirage, a holograph of what they wanted to see, what Ginny wanted her to be. She was still whole, at least bodily.

Once again, Hermione only nodded. “Will you stay?” She asked her friend, as the other girl made for the door. “I just… it would be nice to have company.”

Ginny gave her a weak smile. “Of course.”

 

* * *

The day continued much in the same fashion. The three friends didn’t talk about what had happened; everyone knew it was too early. Both Ginny and Harry tried to make Hermione eat several times, but she could not stomach any food. 

At some point, Ginny had gone to Hermione’s apartment to retrieve Hadwin, Crookshanks, toiletries, and enough clothes for a few weeks.

Hermione had received an owl from Smethwyck stating that she was not expected to return to work on Monday unless she wanted to and felt ready. Hermione told him she’d be there; sitting idly was not helping her mental state.

When it was time to head to bed, she was put in the guest suite, two doors down from the master bedroom. This was the room that had belonged to Regulus Black at one time.

Hermione tried to fall asleep alone, but she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, Hermann’s face appeared and she felt like she could smell the pungent scent of cigarette smoke shot through with lilac, the scent of her own perfume. It made her want to hurl. 

After hours of tossing and turning, she gave up and crawled towards the comfort of companionship, blanket, and pillow in hand. She put her things down on the floor next to Ginny’s side of the bed intending to at least rest for a while, knowing sleep would probably evade her even there. 

 

* * *

** Monday, 26th of August 2002 **

The next morning, Hermione woke to the sounds of a scream and a bang. Ginny had stumbled over her sleeping figure. The redhead had been on her way from the bed to the bathroom and now lay splayed on the ground. 

Hermione was still on the varnished floor, head resting atop her folded arms, laying on her stomach. She had fallen asleep there and, for a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Ginny knelt down next to her and Hermione felt her friend’s arm tentatively touch her back. The redhead screamed once more when Hermione stirred. 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione exclaimed, sleep seeping into her words. She rolled over, pushed herself into a sitting position, looking at her friend. 

“Oh,” Ginny stuttered. “For a moment I thought—”

_ She thought what?  _

“I thought, uhm, never mind. What were you doing on the floor like that!?” Ginny accused pulling at Hermione’s hand to get her to her feet. 

Harry finally stirred, too. “Gin, it’s not even five in the morning, what the bloody hell are you screeching for?!” He moaned, slinging an arm over his eyes when his girlfriend turned to the window to open the curtains. 

Hermione remained silent. 

“Why were you on the floor?” Ginny questioned once more. 

Hermione hesitated. “I didn’t want to be alone,” she said after a little too long.  

Ginny shook her head. “You should have woken us! You didn’t have to sleep on the floor like that.”

“I know, I—I just. I didn't want to be a nuisance. You both were asleep and I—I'm sorry, I just couldn't b—.” Hermione broke off. “Are you okay? You fell pretty hard. Let me check on the baby.”

At the mention of the coming baby, both Harry and Ginny stiffened; they had been so worried about Hermione that they had seemingly forgotten about their impending parenthood.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Ginny was saying, though she’d already sat down on the bed and was rolling up her nightshirt.

Hermione retrieved her wand from under the pillow.She ran several diagnostics, looking at diagrams and reading charts.

 

“Everything looks good,” she told her friends after a while. “He’s in perfect condition.”

* * *

The three friends went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. Like Hermione, both Harry and Ginny had early mornings with both the Auror office and the Harpies. 

Hermione sipped her coffee while Harry fried bacon and Ginny chatted away. She wasn’t hungry, couldn’t stomach anything while her entire being felt like it was filled with bile. She declined the toast Ginny was handing her and made a quick retreat to the upstairs bathroom when breakfast was brought to the table. 

As she walked up the stairs, she could hear the couple murmuring words of concern. 

 

* * *

Hermione landed in the entrance hall of St. Mungo’s a quarter before six. She rushed up to the locker room and was the first one there. She got changed quickly, downing some Wide-Eye potion to become more alert after the trying night she’d experienced. 

The other trainees entered the room one by one, eying her with pity. An eerie kind of silence filled the room. No one seemed to know whether or not they should talk to her. Around St. Mungo’s, the only thing that spread faster than maladies was gossip, and Hermione knew they’d all heard what happened. 

Both Terry Boot and Hannah Abbott were trying to catch her eye while they changed into their healer robes, but Hermione purposefully looked away, not in the mood to talk to either of them. She felt like a caged animal in a zoo—all eyes were on her. 

Christina and Theo rushed over to Hermione when they entered and started fussing over the curly-haired witch. They’d obviously heard about her altercation with Munter, too. 

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Christina shot at the crowd, who were still watching them. No one answered. They all averted their eyes and tried to look busy, even though they were doing nothing.   
  
“I’m fine,” Hermione reassured her friends, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“I just don’t understand,” Theo stated. “If he wanted to take advantage of you, why didn’t he just do it when he walked you home after the first time we went out drinking?”

“What?” Hermione asked, not understanding the brown-haired man. 

“He told us he’d walked you home that first night when you stormed off from the bar,” Theo repeated. “That’s why none of us mentioned it the next day. Munter told us not to bother you about it because you were upset.”

“He must have followed me,” Hermione whispered. Her throat was closing up. The all-too-familiar bile rising within her. “After that night, I started to see the cloaked figure outside my window.” 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about that?” Christina asked, voice accusing. 

Hermione pondered Yaxley’s question. Why hadn’t she told anyone? She felt foolish now. She hesitated for a moment before replying. “I thought I was being paranoid.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Theo told her. “I encouraged him to ask you out. He obviously liked you, and I thought, well, after you helped me with Malfoy… I thought maybe it would be nice for you to go on a date and have some fun.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hermione tried to reassure her friend in earnest, grabbing his hand and squeezing it hard. He squeezed her hand back in response. 

Pucey and Spinnet strode into the room at that moment and the trainees ended their chatter. The group was informed that Rolf had caught a nasty strain of Black Cat Flu and was out for the rest of the week. Therefore, Isobel, the blonde, would be on Pucey’s service for the rest of the week. Quickfire instructions were directed at the other trainees when Spinnet ended her speech. 

When Hermione made for the door, Pucey held her back. He was blocking the only exit, and she shrank away from him. Adrian tried to meet her gaze and she looked away. His expression was one of pity, too.

“Sorry,” he muttered, watching her reaction and moving away from the door, leaning against a locker. “Are you able to work today?” 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her voice quivered slightly, making the statement sound less genuine.

“I would understand it if you needed some time—"

“No!” Hermione interrupted, nearly shouting. She tried to steady herself before she continued. “It’s just better if I’m working.”

She wanted to be busy, didn’t want to think. 

“Okay…” Adrian dragged the small word out until it sounded like it contained ten syllables. “Cover the pit.”

“I said I’m fine,” Hermione argued.

Pucey’s tone grew strict. “I understand that you’re fine, but I have to anticipate a certain level of distractions from you today, even in the face of all that fine-ness.” 

Hermione huffed. 

“Cover the entrance hall till seven tonight, and then we’ll see if I need you elsewhere,” he repeated, as she pushed past him out the door. 

 

* * *

Hermione walked up the stairs to the lunchroom. She was exhausted. Her lack of nutrition since Saturday was starting to make her head swim, yet she could not stomach the thought of eating anything. She got a Pepper-Up Potion from her locker and downed it, hoping it would help her to feel more alert. 

The pit had been slow that day, Hermione had barely gotten to do any healing at all. It had not distracted her sufficiently. Munter had been popping up in her head every now and then, and she’d had to rush to the bathroom once, suffering through a panic attack. It had been gruesome, especially when her superior had asked her why she’d been in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes. 

There were no other employees in the lunchroom when she entered, and she turned on the small radio to drown out her thoughts with music. ‘The Devil's Snare’ were playing their catchy rock song ‘Wand in a Knot’ and Hermione closed her eyes, trying to focus on the lyrics. 

The door banged open and Theo entered with his lunch in hand. “There you are!” He exclaimed when he caught sight of her. “How was today?”

Hermione just shook her head. 

“You’re meeting Malfoy tomorrow night, right?” He asked her when he sat down. “He told me about it when we were in France.”

Hermione swallowed. She’d forgotten about that. “I think I should cancel,” she told the other healer, tentatively. 

After hearing her answer, his cheeks suffused with color. “Right… Are you sure you’re fine, Hermione?” Theo’s voice was thick with emotion. “I don’t know what happened, but I know you had to spend the night here, and that Munter has been arrested. I’m just so sorry…”

Hermione’s tongue curdled. It made a wave of nauseous despair crawl up her throat. She nodded. She didn’t want to talk about it. “Theo,” she warned.

He was standing in front of her, and suddenly he pulled her to her feet and into a crushing hug. 

That was all it took. Hermione couldn’t hold back anymore. She started crying. Like a suitcase filled to the brink, her zipper broke, and her contents spilled out in humongous piles—her business, her nerves, and her utter despair.

Theo held her while an earthquake traveled through her body, shaking her entire frame. 

If falling apart in front of him wasn’t bad enough, Isobel entered a moment later and suddenly Hermione was sobbing in front of her, too.

The tall blonde appeared at Theo’s side, smelling of sugary sweetness, passive eyes watching the scene in front of her. 

“Is she having a seizure?” asked Isobel.

Hermione’s knees buckled and the only thing holding her up was Theo’s strong grip around her middle. He sank down to the floor with her in his lap, rocking her like she was a small child. 

 “Possibly,” he told the blonde. “Now, would you mind leaving?” 

“Theo, no,” Isobel snapped. “We should contact someone.”

“N-n-no.” Hermione struggled to speak the word through her sobs. She sagged against Nott’s strong chest. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t see through her tears. Couldn’t breathe.

Isobel continued to babble, though the two other trainees were no longer listening to her. Once the blonde realized this, she left with a huff, banging the door into the wall loudly. 

Hermione jumped at the sound. Her body was trembling, and she used all her focus to make it stop. She didn’t want to come even more undone than she already had. It was an uphill battle but, after a while, she came to her senses. 

“I’m sorry,” she muffled into Theo’s drenched robes.

The brown-haired man raised her head with one hand, swiping his thumb under her eyes to rub away some of the tears. He gave her a smile that she could only describe as fatherly. The smile contained a warmth that reminded Hermione of Arthur Weasley.

“Don’t be sorry,” he told her in earnest, hugging her tightly once more.

 

* * *

Once work finished, Tuesday at twelve, Hermione Apparated to Heathgate, where she’d grown up. She walked through the copses of her childhood, where bushes spitefully caught your face when you passed. 

The overgrown thicket boasted views of sun and strawberries and meadow flowers. She sat down amongst the beauty, slightly shielded from the painful world outside. Hermione had spent many days there as a child; it had been her hiding place when the world felt too harsh. She retrieved a novel from her purse and began reading. The book was by Bukowski, one she’d seen Malfoy read several times during his stay at the hospital. 

Hermione sat, all alone, enjoying the quiet while she read.  She glanced up from the novel and let her eyes get lost far away amongst the trees and the mysterious green-hued daylight. The light was wonderfully peaceful yet unnerving because of the loneliness and the vague darkness it cast. Hermione sat there, on the soft earthy ground for a long time, just breathing and reading. She wanted the air and the story to purge her of everything that had transpired. 

Hermione wanted to be purified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	12. Left in the Lurch

**Tuesday, 27th of August 2002**

_Granger,_

_I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling under the weather and we can’t meet up tonight. Let’s reschedule—how’s Friday?_

_I have to go to Azkaban to visit my father tomorrow… I can’t say I’m excited._

_Other than that, France was great. I’m very much alive, and reconnecting with the other Slytherins was nice. We drank and had fun like we used to back in fifth-year before everything turned to shit. I miss that time. Everything was easier when we were younger, wasn’t it? Maybe not for you, you always got into all kinds of trouble, even at that age._

_Theo’s told me about this bar next to St. Mungo’s. Maybe you could take me there on Friday? We could make a group of it if you want._

_Talk soon,_

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

 

**Wednesday, 28th of August 2002**

_Granger,_

_I sent one of the manor elves, Pinley, to your apartment with some soup. He came back and told me you weren’t home._

_Are you feeling better? Did you go to work today?_

_Talk soon,_

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

 

**Thursday, 29th of August 2002**

_Granger,_

_Why aren’t you answering? Did I do something to piss you off? Knowing my track record, I probably did. Are you angry at me?_

_Draco_

* * *

 

**Monday, 2nd of September 2002**

_I just don’t understand what’s going on. Why the fuck aren’t you answering?_

_If I did something, then tell me, for fuck's sake! You’re acting like a right cunt, and I hope you realize it._

_I’d HONESTLY never expect you’d be the kind of witch who’d just cut things off like that. You’re acting like a fucking ghost, and every time I sit down to write to you now, it’s like walking through one._

_WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT?!?_

_ANSWER THE BLOODY OWL, YOU BINT!_

_Fuck you!_

_D.M._

* * *

 

**Saturday, 7th of September 2002**

_Granger,_

_I’m sorry if I came off as a cross prat in the last letter. I just want you to talk to me. YOU PROMISED…_

_I’m not doing so good lately, but as you predicted, having my friends back in my life helps. I’ve been hanging out with Blaise quite a bit, as Theo is always working, just like you._

_Pansy is back in England, too, for a while._

_Mother was asking after you. She wants you to dine with us soon, as thanks for all you did for me. If she owls you, please respond, though you can’t seem to bother with me…_

_How has the hospital been treating you? Stressful? I hope you aren’t still sick, though I’m guessing you never were._

_I’d rather you’d be fucking honest because you're making me feel like a bloody Hufflepuff begging for a reply. I never thought a Gryffindor would be this much of a slimy git—that’s my job, remember?_

_This will be my last letter. When you feel like being a decent fucking person, write me back._

_D.M._

* * *

 

**Monday, 9th of September 2002**

_Granger,_

_Theo told me what happened. I’m not going to say I understand, but I’m proud that you got away and went to the hospital. You did the right thing. Please answer me, I want to be here for you like you were for me._

_I will give you the same advice you gave me. Maybe our situation is different, but the same advice still applies. Seek out a mind healer, Hermione. It will only do you good to talk to someone._

_You need to let go of some of the strain on your heart. You’re fierce, you’re a flame… don’t let this strangle your fire._

_Nobody wants you to suffer, and you obviously are._

_Your friend,_

_Draco_

* * *

 

**Wednesday, 11th of September 2002**

_For fuck's sake, Hermione, why the bloody hell are you letting what happened tame you, break you? You’re a lion for Morgana’s sake. Sometimes you have to walk through the shit-storm to get to the other side. You know this—you won a fucking war._

_It’s really fucking frustrating that you won’t talk to me, won’t let me help you, won’t let me see you. You promised to stay in touch. It’s been nearly a month since I saw you last._

_I want to help. Please let me._

_You don’t have to be fine, and you don’t have to be ashamed._

_Talk soon,_

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

 

**Friday, 13th of September 2002**

It was by pure accident that Hermione Granger agreed to see a mind healer. Since the attack, a mere three weeks earlier, she’d started wandering the streets of London aimlessly, for hours at a time, without purpose or destination, waiting for her days to come to an end.

She’d told Harry and Gin that she was having a nervous breakdown as she exited the door of Grimmauld, and they’d simply let her go. It was no surprise, though—she’d told them this exact thing nearly every day for weeks—they knew there was nothing they could do or say to help. Not even Hermione cared about this so-called breakdown; it was routine by this point.

In a world full of flowers blooming, Hermione Granger wilted. She knew she was slipping into a deep depression, yet there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.

She tried pouring all her energy into her work—worked till her bones ached, yet still, life felt taxing, lacking purpose.

At the end of the day, she was left to deal with her pain on her own. Every night, when arriving back from her walk, the thoughts she’d tried to outrun on her walk came rushing back to her.

Hermione thought about Munter and what he had said to her that night. His words had stabbed her and buried themselves inside. They’d become rotting corpses that clung to her body. Hermione was unable to shake their bones from her flesh.

She also thought about her friends and how she was nothing but a burden to them. She could see both Ginny and Harry, as well as Theo and Christina, growing more and more frustrated with her behavior.

Sometimes, Hermione thought about her mother and how she should be visiting her more. The nursing staff had started calling her, asking whether or not she’d make it to their Sunday family brunch, as this was often beneficial for the patients. She told them every week that she’d try to make it.

In the in-between spaces, Hermione thought about Draco. He was the pause before her next heartbeat, before the clench of her chest, before she exhaled. She felt so bad about ignoring his letters and letting him down. She wanted to talk to him, but she was afraid. Draco had always treated her like she was normal. He didn’t walk on eggshells around her, nor did she want him to. She didn’t want anything to change between them; that’s why she hadn’t answered him. Because they would—things  _would_ change, she was sure of it.

When it was time for Hermione to rest, sleep felt like an impossible goal, yet every morning, she was dragged out of the depths of slumber kicking and screaming. It was a never-ending cycle. She’d been running on far too little, for far too long. And insomnia was never a secret—it carved its way into your appearance, leaving bruise-like shadows under your eyes.

Her appetite had yet to return, too. Hermione was shrinking, occupying less and less space—she felt small. Ginny, as well as Theo, had made it a habit of forcing her to eat whenever they were together. She knew they meant well, yet she hated them for putting pressure on her. Couldn’t they see that it wasn’t helping?

Hermione was simply exhausted—it numbed her mind slightly. What was it Malfoy had said?  _To replace one pain with another._ This—her tiring herself out through work, walking and lack of nutrition—was her Stinging Hex, her _Diffindo_. Hermione would rather be exhausted than think more than necessary.

When she came back from her aimless roaming that night, Harry was still up. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a cold cup of tea in front of him, deeming by the lack of steam rising from the mug. Hermione wondered how long he’d been sitting there, just waiting for her.

“You can have my mind healer for a while. I don’t need him at the moment,” Harry told her when he saw her enter the kitchen.

Hermione halted. “I—I don’t need your healer.” She wanted to scoff at his statement. If there was one person she knew who definitely needed a mind healer, it was Mr. Harry James Potter. Her friend was obviously making a mistake by giving up his healer. Hermione knew her trauma couldn’t even begin to compare to the losses Harry had faced.

Her friend continued to speak, but Hermione was barely paying attention—Harry’s voice a muffled static in her ears, making him sound distorted. Her eyes lingered on the window where her own refection was looking back at her. Her face was collapsing in on itself, like a sinkhole swallowing the ground above it. Hermione didn’t understand how she could look even more hollow now than when she’d first come to London—she’d thought she’d hit bottom then. What a foolish girl she’d been.

Her gaze flickered and she looked past her own ghostly shadow into the night outside. It was dark out, had been for a couple of hours. The darkness seemed permanent, somehow—consuming the world. Consuming her.

“Are you listening to me?” Harry’s voice broke into her reveries. “For the time being, Hermione, you need him far more than I do. He has a pretty long waiting list so I’m giving you my spot.”

Considering the way he was insisting, Hermione could only infer that she’d become a plague and a torment to the people in her life. Harry and Ginny obviously didn’t want to have to deal with her anymore. She huffed. “Really, Harry, there’s no need. If this is about me still staying here, I—I can move out.”

Something flashed in her friend’s green eyes. Harry got to his feet. He walked the short distance over to where she was standing and towered over her.

“It’s not about that. You know you’re welcome here.” His tone was soft. “But you will go see him, Hermione, this Sunday. You can go on your own or I can escort you. Send him an owl!”

Hermione couldn’t decipher her friend’s tone. She blinked up at him, trying to understand. Before she could muster a reply, Harry walked past her. She heard him take the stairs two at a time.

Hermione sat down in her friend’s vacated seat and saw that a piece of parchment and a quill was situated on the table in front of her. It was addressed to a man named Finn Scarsyard. Once again, she huffed.

The house fell quiet, and Hermione listened to the silence—it had a lot to say. After a long minute of staring at the open page before her, she picked up the quill. When signing the letter, she wrote ‘Sincerely, Insane’ instead of her name. As Hadwin fluttered off with her note, she deeply regretted her choice.

* * *

 

**Sunday, 15th of September 2002**

Hermione finished her weekend shift a quarter past twelve and started making her way into Central London where she would be seeing Harry’s mind healer for the first time.

Crossing the street to get to the white villa, Hermione declined to check for oncoming traffic, not caring in the least if she was hit. After all, she felt half-dead already. The house looming in front of her was beautiful—stemming from the Victorian or perhaps Edwardian era. Her eyes scanned the double-fronted stucco facade with an ink-black door in the center.

On the door, a gold plate read ‘The Thought Villa’ with a list of names under it. At first, she couldn’t find Finn’s name on the list even after reading through it twice. Hermione had to lift her finger and point to each name individually to avoid missing anyone.

Scarsyard was the fourth name down. She felt foolish. Apparently, her eyes were failing her, too.

Hermione tapped his name twice with her wand, as Harry had instructed her to do. The door opened instantly revealing a small entrance hall. A door was centered straight ahead and on either side were open arches leading to staircases. The stairs leading right had a sign for ‘UP’, while the stairs on the left were marked for with an ‘X’. On the right wall hung a chart that listed the healers and their location. Scarsyard was located on the third floor, waiting room three.

A bit grudgingly, Hermione started making her way slowly up the narrow staircase, one hand on the wall-mounted handrail. It had been raining outside and her shoes were squeaking in protest, much like she wanted to do. Hermione didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Once up, she started walking down a white corridor, locating Finn's door at the end. She could tell that the door was locked from several feet away. It made her anxious.

Hermione started pacing back and forth. She knew she was early, but this was not going as planned. In her head, the door would have been open. For fifteen minutes she paced until she heard someone coming up the stairs. She leaned against the wall next to the door, then turned her head to meet the eyes of the newcomer—guessed that this might be Finn.

The man was wearing a beige frock coat, dusted with pebbles of the rain from outside. He held an umbrella in his hand and a soft expression was painting his features.

“Hi, I’m Finn,” he said with a serious voice, reaching a hand out to shake hers.

“Hermione.”

Reaching into his pocket, Finn retrieved a pair of keys. “The waiting room is usually open, but I’ve been in a meeting, so it was locked today,” he explained, pushing a key into the lock.

Hermione nodded.

Once through the first door, Finn went straight through the waiting room over to another door, opening that, as well. He gestured for Hermione to enter.

Hermione glanced around the waiting room before entering his office. The waiting room was small. A leather couch was facing the wall on her right, which consisted of bookshelves stacked to the rim with books. Sylvia Plath—The Bell Jar caught her eye before she made it across the floor.

“I’m just going to rid myself of my coat and brolly, so you go ahead and choose a seat,” Finn called over his shoulder, nodding towards two plush armchairs inside the office.

Hermione sat down in the chair with the best view of the room. My spot, she thought and sighed.

She noticed another door leading out of the office and stared at it for a long moment. _Where did it lead?_

“It leads you down the second staircase so you don’t have to run into the next patient,” explained Finn, having caught her lingering gaze. 

“Oh.”

* * *

 

Finn settled in the chair across from her. From his pocket, he retrieved parchment and a Quick-Quotes-Quill.

They talked a bit about themselves. Finn told her he was a healer as well as a mind healer. After hearing about what had happened to Hermione, as well as how messed up her sleep schedule was at the moment, he asked Hermione if she wanted him to provide her with mood-stabilizing potions. She didn’t answer.

“I know you can get them at Mungo’s, but I’d rather you get them prescribed by me,” he said.

“Alright,” she reluctantly agreed.

“What do you want to get out of our conversations Hermione?” He asked her.

Hermione stayed quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I want to stop being so unhappy, I guess. I mostly went today because Harry made me.”

“Why do you think he made you?” Finn’s hazel eyes shone with kindness.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve become such a burden.”

“Could it be that he cares for you? Did you think of him as a burden whenever he was in a bad place?”

“No, he’s my friend, he was never a burden.”

Finn smiled. “Then why do you think of yourself as one?” His question hung in the air. Hermione didn’t answer. She looked up to meet his eyes.

Before the end of the session, Finn asked her what she wanted her life to be like.

“I don’t know,” she answered before standing up.

He opened the door leading downstairs for her, and she walked onto a small landing. It seemed like all the mind healers’ offices were set up the same way as Finn’s.

Four doors led out onto the third-floor landing, and Hermione imagined it would be the same for the second floor as well. She started her trek downwards. When she reached the second floor, a door flung open in front of her face, knocking her down.

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice called out and Hermione found herself gazing up at the ruddy cheeks and gleaming eyes of a flustered looking Draco Malfoy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for all the love I received following the last chapter! I can't believe this story has made it past 3000hits and has gotten more than 150Kudos. All the comments bring me so much joy. I really hope you liked this chapter.  
> Reviews give me life, so please comment if you have anything to say!
> 
> Weekly updates on Thursdays.  
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	13. A Taste of One’s Own Medicine

**Sunday, 15th of September 2002**

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice called out and Hermione found herself gazing up at the ruddy cheeks and gleaming eyes of a flustered looking Draco Malfoy. When he recognized her on the floor, he turned on his heel and started stomping down the stairs.

Hermione’s voice got caught in her throat. After a moment and with a swell of courage, she managed to call out for him.

“Wait, Malfoy!” Her cry was hoarse. “Just hold on for a moment.”

He didn’t slow down or turn around. Hermione got to her feet and raced after him—nearly stumbling down the stairs in her haste. Before he made it out the front door, she caught his sleeve and yanked him back.

“Please, do you have a second?” Hermione pleaded.

“One Hippogriff,” he shot back before trying to tug his arm free from her grip.

“Please, Malfoy, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say!” She was begging at this point.

“You overestimate me,” he snarled back.

Hermione nearly lost the hold she had on him; she was shocked to hear his unfriendly tone. When she looked right at him, the expression that painted his features cut her down to the bone.  He looked like he did when they were younger—eyes shot through with animosity.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Tears were filling her eyes but she refused to let them fall. 

Draco stilled. He seemed to take in her pleading eyes and time froze for just a moment.

Hermione stared back at him. The light from the open door hit his grey orbs and transformed them into silver pools, Pensieves full of memories—smoky surfaces of possibilities.

“What for?” He huffed out, tone still sour, though Hermione knew his initial anger had passed.

“For ignoring you. For not answering. For pushing you away. I’m sorry,” she repeated.

He gave her a weak smile. “I’ll forgive you eventually, but you’re going to have to make it up to me,” he told her with a smirk, one hand coming up to pull on the end of her braid.

“How about lunch?” Hermione quipped back.

* * *

 

The Leaky was nearly empty when they entered the dark cavern that afternoon. Blue pipe smoke hung in the air, and a lonesome waiter bustled about tending to the five patrons that occupied the room.

Draco stayed quiet as Hermione settled herself into the seat across from him at the small table. He motioned to the barman and was quickly presented with a glass of Firewhisky, which he promptly knocked back.

Something inside of Hermione’s chest clenched as she looked at him. It was a difficult sensation to read — not unpleasant, but slightly unsettling. She was nervous; she hadn’t seen him in weeks.

“You’re drinking?” She questioned, though the answer was obvious.  

“I’m thirsty,” he quipped back.

Before she could open her mouth to respond, he rushed on.

“I’m not going to press you to talk about it, I’m sure you don’t want to. Theo told me what happened.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m fine,” she lied.

Draco glared at her with cold eyes. He knew she was lying—Hermione could smell it. It was as though something had gone sour—like old milk.

“Don’t lie, Granger,” he told her. “I can read you like the top line of an optician’s chart.”

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut. She was baffled—flabbergasted—shocked into silence.

“What would you like to eat?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Some soup perhaps,” she stated, her tone rising at the end of the sentence—like she was asking him a question.

“Sounds good,” Draco answered, raising his hand to beckon the lone waiter. He ordered quickly and turned back to her. Hermione gave him a small smile.

“Tell me about your trip,” she encouraged him. 

“Well, I survived.” He was smirking at her.

Hermione’s smile grew a little wider. “What did you guys do?”

“Caught up, mostly.” Malfoy didn’t seem to want to talk about his trip, or soup, or whatever nonsense. He eyed Hermione across the table, then said, “I think it was brave of you to finally seek help.”

“Brave?” Hermione questioned.

“Yeah, the little things that you dare to do, most people would never be able to, if they were as afraid as you,” he breathed, just audibly.

Hermione didn’t know what to say. Had it been brave? She didn’t feel courageous at the moment. For the most part, she spent her days living with fear. Maybe Malfoy had a point, though—the one who was afraid of everything was also the bravest of them all. Bravery was not the lack of fear in a person, but the power to rise above your fear and do something anyway.

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

* * *

 

When they were presented with their soup, they both fell into silence while trying to enjoy the meal. Every now and then, Hermione would glance up and catch Draco’s eyes on her. It unnerved her slightly. She didn’t know where they stood anymore, though if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t really ever known where they stood. The last time they spoke in person, he’d made her promise to spend time with him after he was discharged. She’d broken that promise and obviously hurt his feelings.

“Would you like something to drink, too?” Draco asked as he signaled for the barman to bring him another Firewhisky.  

“I’ve given up alcohol,” she responded. It was a lie.

Draco laughed and suddenly everything went from harsh to soft, from hard to the easiest thing in the world. Hermione let go of the feelings of uneasiness. They would figure this out—she was certain.

“Oh really?” Malfoy mocked.

“Yes,” she hissed through the smile that was playing on her lips.

“Well, I guess you were always my moral superior,” he mused

Hermione chuckled. “Well, obviously.”

Their laughter was broken by the melody of a sudden succession of shrill rings. With shaking fingers, Hermione fished her buzzing Nokia out of her pocket. She raised a finger to her lips in an attempt to silence Draco, who was asking what the hell that was, and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Miss Granger, this is Noah Henricks calling from your mother’s nursing home.” Hermione swallowed. “I’m sorry to see that you didn’t attend our Sunday brunch today.”

“I’m sorry, I—I worked till well past 12, and then I had an appointment,” Hermione tried to explain.

“It’s just such a shame,” Noah prosed. “Our inhabitants usually respond so well to these brunches.”

Hermione huffed. “Mr. Henricks, if my mother was lucid, she would understand. She’s done this countless times before. And besides, she doesn’t even know who I am anymore, so...”

“Your mother’s been asking when her daughter Hermione gets done at work.”

Hermione inhaled sharply. She hung up and met Draco’s gaze. He was studying her.

“What’s going on?” He asked her, tone unsure. Hermione wondered how much of the conversation he’d understood. The last time she’d talked to Draco about her parents, she’d lied and told him they’d been travelling in Australia. Hermione decided to grace him with the truth this time.

“It’s my mother.” Her voice was unsteady.

“What’s going on?” He repeated his question. His expression was serious—he knew something was amiss.

“She—She’s not traveling in Australia. She isn’t anything. I lied. My mum’s in a nursing home here in London because—” Hermione faltered, trying to gather the necessary courage to admit what she’d done. “— I tried to reset her mind after Obliviating her during the war. I—I broke her; she went mad.”

For a long moment, Draco sat frozen. Suddenly, he got to his feet and Hermione felt dread wash over her as she imagined him walking out on her.

But he didn’t.

Draco pulled Hermione to her feet and into his embrace.

She melted against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, again and again. “I’m so fucking sorry, Granger.”

Hermione clutched him close. She was flush against his chest. Her cheek resting on his sternum, his chin atop her head.  Hermione could hear his heart pounding.

She could hear his heart.

For the first time since the attack, Hermione felt safe.

* * *

 

The following week, Hermione met Draco for lunch once more. That particular Tuesday, they ventured into Muggle London together.

Malfoy seemed stressed as they strode down the street. He hadn’t said much when he picked Hermione up from work, and it was making her slightly nervous.

A double-decker bus roared past them, making Draco jump.

“I thought you said in the hospital that you spent time with Muggles,” Hermione noted. “Surely that would mean you’ve gotten used to traffic, too,”

He chuckled. “I was referring to bars, Granger.”

“Oh.” She pondered his answer for a bit. “So—o, you’ve dated muggles?”

Draco exhaled sharply. “Not really dated,” he stated.

“Just fucked then?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, tell me.” Her mouth drew up at the corner.

Malfoy glared at her. “You’re being positively lewd, you know that.”

When she chuckled, his features clouded with irritation. A dark shadow of the boy he’d been in school seemed to cross his face for a moment, then he said, “What about you, Granger? Huh, who have you dated lately?” There was acid in his voice. His question hung between them—a piñata he’d just hit square on, which was now spilling out all its contents.

Hermione froze—stopped walking—stilled completely. It seemed to take Draco a second before he froze, too. “Sweet Morgana, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off.

Hermione shook herself. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

They strode on in silence.

In fact, the next hour was spent in near silence, only interrupted by occasional talk of superficial matters. They talked about Arithmancy, the green curry they both had ordered, and new political reforms. Nothing was personal, nothing was deep. Hermione could see the ways in which they tried to be careful with each other, afraid of hitting those raw places where they might cause the other pain almost without trying.

“Will I see you again soon?” Draco asked as they made it to the nearest Apparition point.

“I guess,” Hermione answered, though she averted her eyes.

She heard a loud crack as he Apparated away and caught herself thinking that sparing another person was a tricky thing. It was easy to think you were succeeding when you were failing spectacularly.

* * *

 

Hermione’s birthday fell on Thursday the 19th.

She emerged from an on-call room to get ready for rounds and was surprised by Christina, Rolf, and Theo, holding a large cream cake and wearing wide grins.

Twenty-three candles were blazing atop it and nearly all the trainees, as well as Spinnet and Pucey, had gathered in the locker room to celebrate and wish her well.

Her colleagues filled the small room with an off-key tune of the birthday carol and plates of cake were passed around. Although Hermione hated all the attention, she found the gesture quite sweet.

The cake tasted delicious—it was filled with fresh strawberries that made her mouth sing with joy. While sitting on the bench enjoying the treat, Christina sat down next her. She gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze then stole a bite of cake from Hermione’s plate with her fork.

“If you do that again, I’ll have to kill you,” Hermione threatened.

Christina shrugged. “I think it would be worth it… Having an okay birthday so far?” The black-haired girl queried.

Hermione nodded. “This cake is mouth-watering!” 

Christina chuckled. “Theo made it.”

“Really? Theo Nott baked a cake?”

“Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.”

They both sniggered.

“So, do you have any plans for tonight?” Christina asked.

Hermione shook her head, taking another piece of cake. “Just a small dinner with some friends.” Her response was slightly clipped, though the other girl didn’t seem to notice.

In fact, Hermione had plans. She was seeing her mother after work, then Harry was cooking her dinner at Grimmauld. She was nervous about her trip to the nursing home.

When she was little, her parents had always made a big fuss about her birthday, until she went to Hogwarts, that is.

Hermione remembered being woken by her parents with presents and breakfast in bed. Her father would take her to a book shop after he’d finish work and they’d spend hours browsing and buying books while her mother stayed at home preparing a birthday dinner.

Once she had started attending Hogwarts, her father would send her a book each day for the week leading up to her actual birthday. _‘In replacement of our trip’_ his notes would say.

The last book she’d received while still in school—while her father still knew who she was—had been José Saramago’s _Blindness_. It was a tale of how the human spirit was bound both by weakness and exhilarating strength.

Hermione felt her good mood simmer as memories of the past flashed across her mind. She yearned for her father’s presence.

She pondered that when you lost someone close to you, you did not only lose them once, you lost them every time you were reminded.

* * *

 

Theo cornered Hermione once she’d finished rounds.

She was in charge of a patient whom had been bit by a Murtlap while on holiday in Whitby. The poor man was shooting flames out of his arse—a misfortunate side effect to the bite. The case was not considered serious, and the man would pass the venom himself within 48 hours.

“I have to talk to you,” Theo said, hauling Hermione along with him.

The brown-haired man exuded excitement. He was positively giddy.

Once they were alone, Theo began ranting. “We need to go out on Saturday to celebrate you properly!”

Hermione leaned one hip against the wall. “I don’t know, Theo,” she answered, tone steady. “I don’t really feel like partying.”

“Come on, it will be loads of fun! You need a laugh and a good time. I promise to make it worth your while. Please.”

She swallowed. “I’m not really a going out type of girl.”

“Nonsense, there is no such thing as a person who hates fun, Hermione. We’ll invite Christina and Rolf to tag along, too, of course. I’ll bring Blaise—no one loves a party more than him!”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said again, though she knew he’d win her over eventually.

Theo looked at her, calculating. “You can bring Potter and the She-Weasley if that would make you more comfortable. Please!”

Sighing, Hermione was ready to admit defeat.

“What about Malfoy—you’re friends, right?”

Her eyes shot to Theo’s. Stammering, she admitted that yes, they were friends, sort of.

“So, I’ll invite him, as well.”

“Theo! We have not agreed to anything!”

“Come on! Don’t be a spoil-sport.”

“It’s _my_ birthday we’re talking about,” Hermione reminded him.

“Semantics,” he sniggered, giving her a lopsided grin.

Hermione laughed. He looked so much like a puppy when smiling like that.

“Fine,” she said. “Fine, we’ll go out for my birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your reviews give me so much motivation, you have no idea!  
> Thank you to everyone reading and enjoying this story. 
> 
> I have to take a break till the September 19th update (2 weeks break), due to a lot of uni coursework these next couple of weeks. Hope you understand. The next update, however, will be special. I've made two art pieces to accompany the chapter and it falls on Hermione's actual birthday. It will also be slightly longer than my usual 3000 words. 
> 
> I really hope you like this update!
> 
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)
> 
> General disclaimer:  
> This fic was written after watching A LOT of Grey’s Anatomy, and some scenes are deeply inspired by the show (I will put it in the endnotes whenever this occurs, as well as any other references I might use for this fic).  
> Some characters, too, are slightly inspired by the show, namely Christina Yaxley is meant to resemble Christina Yang.  
> Characters, places, potions, and spells belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own anything.


	14. Dancing in September

****

**Saturday, 21st of September 2002**

“You are wearing the silk dress or I’m hexing you!” Christina called from the bathroom as the two female trainees were getting ready together. 

Hermione was standing in the other girl’s bedroom, feeling slightly uncomfortable. She had invited Harry and Ginny along for Theo’s planned night out, but they had declined. The couple had left for Brussels early that morning with Ginny’s Quidditch team and were staying the weekend. Hermione was housesitting at Grimmauld, alone for the time being, and it made her stomach twist into a tight knot. 

They were meeting the rest of the group at The Wave, a wizarding night club. Hermione was nervous. Sure, she knew most of the people who would be there, but she hadn’t seen Blaise Zabini since school and, as for Malfoy, she never really knew where they stood. The last time she’d talked to him, things had felt awkward between them. 

Hermione tugged at the hem of the silk slip Christina had put her in. She stood in front of the full-length mirror next to the vanity, studying herself. The dress was far too short in her opinion, causing most of her blindingly pale legs to be on display. She swallowed. 

“Christina, I’m not sure. I mean, it’s a very, uhm, pretty…dress, I’m just not sure if it’s for me,” Hermione tried to explain. 

Another yell came from the open bathroom door.  “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t wear it!” Christina demanded. 

“My legs are too pale,” Hermione answered. Her tone had risen and sounded shrill. Picking up her glass from the vanity, she took a sip of her sparkling sangria to calm down. 

Christina rounded the corner into the bedroom and came to stand beside Hermione in front of the mirror. Her straight, black hair had been parted in the middle and tied up in two pigtails. Loose tendrils framed her face perfectly and she’d attached matching butterfly clips to each pigtail. She held a tumbler of sangria in one hand and a tube of mascara in the other. She was wearing a strapless dress the color of an oil spill. The dress was tight on top and showed off every curve she had to offer and reached just past her knees. Her breasts sat high on her chest, supported by push-up charms that nearly made her spill out of the tiny outfit. She looked like a true vixen. 

Taking a sip of her drink, Christina gave her friend a comforting smile. “Come on, Granger! It’s a sexy dress and you’re a sexy person. Live a little!” Her eyes were pleading. “We are drinking and dancing. Showing some skin is a requisite, and anyway, if you want to cover your legs, wear some dark stockings.”   

Hermione sighed. She averted her eyes from Christina’s pleading ones and took another look at the offending garment.

The dress she was wearing was the color of sea-foam with fabric so light it felt like she was wearing nothing at all. The silk flowed down her form, caressing her body. It was a size too big, making it loose fitting on her slim form. The waistline of the dress cut asymmetrically across her hips and the hem reached the middle of her thighs. It had a high neck halter that left her shoulders and upper back bare, but covered her chest fully. 

Hermione raised her shoulders till they nearly touched her ears, shrugging. She guessed her friend might have a point. “I don’t know how much skin I want to show,” she tried to reason once more. 

Christina pushed her concerns away. “Well, some of the girls there will be showing bare ass, so you won’t stand out if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Hermione swallowed but nodded. Shooting herself one last look in the full-length mirror, she turned away from the looking glass and sat down on the bed. She reached for the pair of stockings she had put in her purse before leaving Grimmauld and quickly shimmied into the black nylon.  

A minute later, Christina crouched in front of her and started fussing about with makeup. She covered Hermione’s lashes with a thick layer of mascara and painted her full lips scarlet. Once finished, she gave Hermione a once over with her eyes. “The dress looks amazing on you,” she told Hermione, smiling. 

Hermione gulped down some more of her sangria. “It’s a very sexy dress,” she answered back, still unsure if it was the right choice. Briefly, she wondered what Draco would think of the revealing dress, though she quickly shot that line of thought down. He probably wouldn’t even notice. 

Christina laughed. “Yeah, I know, I’m the one who bought it. It truly looks good on you, though—a sexy kind of dress for a sexy kind of witch!”

Hermione looked away. She wanted to tell Christina to stop complimenting her, but she didn’t. “You look really good,” she told the other girl instead. 

“Oh please, I could do good in my sleep, I look fucking amazing,” Christina stated confidently, throwing one pin-straight pigtail over her shoulder. 

Hermione nodded. She wished she knew how to be as confident as Christina. “Hair up or down?” She asked.

“Down,” Christina responded immediately. She got up from her position in front of the curly-haired girl and went over to the vanity. 

Christina shuffled around in a drawer for a bit before fishing two silver hairpins out. Walking back to Hermione she handed her the silver pins. “Pin some of the hair back to keep it from falling into your eyes,” she suggested. 

Hermione nodded. 

Her hair was parted at the middle and she used both pins to pin back some of the hair from the right side of her face before looking up at her friend expectantly. 

“Perfect!” Christina exclaimed, grinning wildly. 

* * *

 

Crammed between two larger brick buildings was a sand colored two-story with a narrow, turquoise door. Above the door was a round archway that looked like a crashing wave. A large stained-glass window hung next to the door and split the first and second floor of the building in two. It depicted a mermaid under water. The mermaid moved around inside the glass, swimming amongst the greens and blues. It was a beautiful scene, the theme befitting the name of the club.

Theo Nott stood outside the building when Hermione and Christina rounded the corner towards the club from the Apparition point. He kissed each of his friends’ cheeks and led them through the turquoise door. On the other side of the door was a long hall with several fireplaces and a queue leading further into the club. 

The line was filled with twenty-something witches and wizards ready for a night out. Hermione glanced at the crowd and didn’t recognize a single face.

Their little trio surpassed the queue and went straight to the bouncer. Theo was led through immediately and the girls followed suit. 

“Blaise does the PR for this place,” Theo explained over his shoulder when he saw Hermione’s questioning look. 

“Great,” exclaimed Christina, “I hate standing in line.”

When they were well inside, Hermione glanced around. 

The space was large, obviously extended magically. The club had walls that were as dark as the sea. Evergreen, velvet lounges were arranged around the outskirts of room and the room smelled of sweat, alcohol and a heady mix of different perfumes and colognes. 

Scarcely clad waitresses circulated around the setting, serving drinks. 

In the middle of the room was a dance floor. It was filled with people who seemed to move like the ocean. A mirrored ceiling hung above the waving crowd. 

Sparkling crystals dripped from the mirror, glistening and omitting red, pink and orange light. It warmed up the otherwise cool atmosphere and cast the room in a sensual light. The falling lights looked like sinking suns that faded into nothingness before they reached the dancing crowd below. 

It was breathtaking. Simply astonishing. 

What sounded like Muggle pop-songs seemed to be playing over the wireless, though Hermione didn’t recognize any of the tunes. The music was heavy with bass, making her heart want to follow the same rhythm. She gulped. Christina hadn’t been wrong in saying her outfit wouldn’t stand out. They were surrounded by witches in tiny outfits, shaking their bits and showing everything they had to offer. 

Theo led the way to a seating area where Blaise Zabini and Rolf Cattermole were waiting for them. They were both nursing drinks, looking slightly uncomfortable to be left alone, though Blaise was wearing a smug grin.

Draco had yet to arrive, it seemed, and Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from asking Theo when he would be there. 

“Fucking finally,” exclaimed Blaise when he caught sight of his boyfriend and the two girls. “You were out there for nearly fifteen minutes!”

Theo grinned back. “Blaise, I’m sure you remember Granger,” he introduced, “and this is Christina.”

Blaise raised his glass in greeting. “Happy Birthday,” he told Hermione, wearing a genuine smile she’d never seen him direct at her before--it made her splutter. 

“Th—thanks, Zabini,” she answered as she settled herself on one of the plush lounges. He nodded back. 

Conversation swelled between the group, and before long, a waitress was at their side. 

“What can I get you ladies?” The server asked. 

Hermione looked around to see if she could spot a menu. “I’m not sure,” she answered truthfully when she couldn’t spot one. 

“We have a drink called Black Lake that’s pretty popular,” the waitress started, prosing. “If you’re a fan of licorice wands, you’re going to like that one.”

Hermione shook her head, though Christina nodded. 

“Something a bit less heavy?” Hermione queried. 

“If you want something light and fresh, I’d suggest either the Blue Cloud or the Sea Mist. Blue Cloud tastes of blueberries and Sea Mist is flavored with lemon and mint.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ll try the Sea Mist,” she said after a moment of thought. 

The waitress smiled back. “I’ll be right back,” she told them. “Do any of you gentlemen need a refill?” She asked the boys before heading for the bar. They shook their heads.

* * *

 

“All I’m saying is that I’m sure you have some very kinky skeletons in your closet, Christina,” Theo was smirking. His tone had grown sluggish with drink and he was sitting nearly atop Blaise’s lap. 

Christina sniggered. “Ooh, ha-ha, what’s in my closet is none of your business, Nott! No matter how much you like hiding in one.”

The statement made Theo scoff outright before hugging his boyfriend closer.

“Well, I don’t have any secrets; my life is boring.” Rolf’s voice cut through the laughter that had followed. 

Hermione turned to him. “Everyone has secrets,” she said in a flat tone.

More laughter filled the room. 

“Pray tell, Granger,” Zabini’s eyes were twinkling at her. 

Before Hermione could muster an answer, a familiar voice breathed into her hair. “I thought you’d given up on alcohol,” said Draco Malfoy. 

Hermione’s head whipped around. The blond was smirking at her. He was wearing a charcoal colored jumper and black slacks, looking rather handsome. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d raked his hands through it one time too many. “Guess it was short lived.” She smiled, and he gave her a curt nod.

“Happy Birthday, Granger,” he smiled, handing her a small gift-wrapped box. “I’m glad Theo invited me along.”

Hermione looked questioningly at the box. 

_He had bought her a present?_

None of the other trainees had bothered with gifts, not that she’d expected them to, and she found it slightly curious that Draco had bothered. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she told him. 

Draco scoffed. “I wanted to,” he stated. His hand seemed to reach up to caress one of her curls, but he caught himself before touching her. “I haven’t seen you with your hair down since school,” he told her. 

Hermione gave him a small smile. "I can't wear it down when I work," she tried to explain. Glancing down at the present in her hand, she gave the box a small shake. She could hear something rattling inside. “Should I open it now?” She queried. 

Draco shook his head. “Wait till you’re home,” he told her, grinning, before settling himself next to her on the couch. 

Their thighs nearly brushed, and Hermione had to calm her breathing. She gave him another shy smile. 

Theo piped up from the other couch. “Took you long enough,” he told Malfoy, though his tone was light, not sour. “It’s quite rude to be this late.”

Draco shook his head. “I’ll have you know, Theo, that my mother raised a perfect gentleman,” he quipped back. “I’m not late, you were simply early.”

Hermione hid her smile at his comment. “A perfect gentleman?” She questioned, tone sceptical. “I’m sorry to hear your mum wasn’t present in your life during your Hogwarts years.”

Blaise Zabini spit his drink as Theo roared in laughter. 

* * *

 

Several rounds of drinks later, Hermione’s head started growing more and more fuzzy. Thoughts spun around in her head so fast she couldn’t quite grab ahold of them. 

Conversation was light and true to Theo’s promise—Hermione was having more fun than she thought possible. She was able to push her anxiety to the back of her mind and managed to laugh along with the rest of them, not feeling on the outside for once. 

Blaise was charming and seemed to get a kick out of making Rolf slightly uncomfortable, which in turn made Theo do everything in his power to make Blaise’s attention stay on him, and only him. His petty jealousy whenever Blaise simply gazed at another bloke was adorable. Hermione had never seen this side of Theo before—he was usually so cool and collected.

Malfoy’s attention never wavered far from Hermione, though they both seemed comfortable as spectators to the others debates, only submitting tidbits and half-answers when the situation called for it. 

They didn’t converse much. Hermione kept stealing glances at him whenever he wasn’t looking her way. He really did look good. His grey sweater fit snugly, showing a hint of the taut muscles it covered. A picture of what he might look like under the fabric flooded her mind for a moment, bringing color to her cheeks. 

Christina bumped her in the side, dragging Hermione back to the present. “Let’s dance!” she yelled, as she started dragging the curly-haired witch to her feet. 

Once upright, the alcohol hit Hermione like a freight train. She stumbled slightly, having to catch her balance before toppling over. 

“Alright there, Granger?” There was amusement in Malfoy’s tone. 

Hermione nodded. “The alcohol just hit me harder than expected,” she tried to explain, though Christina was already tugging her forward once more. 

“Come on, let’s dance!” Christina yelled again over the pounding music. 

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t really da—”

“Of course you dance!” interrupted Christina, not letting go of Hermione’s hand. 

The raven-haired girl led the way onto the dance floor and Hermione felt herself being swallowed by the crowd. 

At first, it felt liberating.

The dance floor was filled with a heady mix of loneliness and expectations—couples grinding up on each other, searching for…something. Hermione tried not to think too much. She tried to let herself feel the music, to let herself be carried away by the beat of the drums. 

Christina let loose, not dancing with anyone in particular, simply moving with the crowd, and Hermione was left to her own accord. She tried not to be uncomfortable—tried to turn her mind off and just… what was it Christina had told her when they were getting ready? _Live a little_ , that was it—she was trying to live a little. 

Hermione closed her eyes, moved her hips and swayed with the rest of the crowd.

Bodies were pressing against hers. She didn’t want to panic, but… she did. She panicked. 

Her eyes sprang open and she started pushing her way away from the middle of the dancefloor. Her pulse had spiked uncomfortably, and she felt too hot, too crowded. She had to get away, escape the pressing crowd, before she dissolved entirely.

She kept her face turned down and didn’t stop fleeing until a pair of unmoving dragon-hide boots stood right in front of her.

A comforting hand touched her shoulder and she glanced up—her wide, wild eyes meeting silver.

“Are you okay?” Draco breathed in her ear. He was standing very close, yet their bodies were not touching.

Hermione swallowed her panic and nodded, one hand coming up to clasp at his adjacent shoulder. Her erratic breathing calmed slightly at the sight of him and she swallowed audibly.

A body bumped into her and she was sent flying forward, crashing into his body. He caught her waist with his other hand, smiling. 

“You okay?” He asked again and Hermione could feel her cheeks growing ruddy. 

The hand not resting on her shoulder traveled along her ribs slowly, climbing upwards like the rungs of a ladder.  

“Dance with me?” Draco asked, voice unsure and Hermione nodded once more. She couldn’t decipher the odd expression that was painted on his face. He looked excited and worried all at the same time. 

In their close proximity, Hermione could feel his ribcage expanding and contracting steadily. It forced her breath to halt to a stop in her own throat, slowly choking her. She stared up at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

Draco gripped her more firmly and led her through the first few beats. They began moving together and Hermione let the hand resting on his shoulder travel slightly upwards until her fingers tickled the hairs at the nape of his neck, emboldened by the alcohol in her system. She truly was thoroughly drunk.   

Draco’s shining grey eyes met hers and she felt her face flush even redder before she looked away. She had to remind herself that he was simply being friendly. He was being her friend by helping her feel more comfortable. He was being her friend by helping her not panic. It was nothing more than that to him. She had to give him some space. 

Stepping away from him slightly, they continued dancing, bodies no longer touching. Once the song finished, Hermione turned on her heel, walking away from him, and pushed her way through the crowd to get back to where Theo, Blaise, and a very uncomfortable looking Rolf were still seated. Malfoy followed her.

He seemed to be deep in thought when he sat down next to her once more. After a moment, he engaged the other boys in a discussion about Quidditch and Hermione was left to spectate once more. 

She noticed that he did not sit as close to her as he had before they ended up on the dancefloor together. It clearly stated what she already knew—they were friends. 

_Just friends._

* * *

 

Draco’s solid grip steadied Hermione as she made her way out of the club and into the entrance hall to catch a Floo home. The taste of sea mist still lingered on her lips and her vision was so hazy it made it hard to see where she was walking. 

Christina had left early, saying she was meeting up with a friend, and Rolf had left not long after. Theo and Blaise were still in the club, but this late in the evening they only had eyes for each other. 

A bowl of Floo Powder was thrust into her free hand, but she didn’t manage to grab it. The bowl clattered to the floor, spilling green powder everywhere. 

“S—sorry,” Hermione mumbled, stuttering slightly, then hiccupped loudly. 

“Don’t worry about it. You really are a lightweight, huh?” Her companion chuckled. 

She closed her eyes. “I s’pose.”

Draco gripped her waist more tightly before leading her into the Floo. “Where to?” He asked her.

“I c—can do,” she hiccupped again, “I can do it.”

She could feel Draco shaking his head next to her. “You can’t even finish a simple sentence, much less pronounce an address—let me escort you home safely.” 

To her surprise, Hermione didn’t feel afraid when he uttered those words. She wondered if she would have been scared if anyone else had offered. “I can f-finish a sen—sentence,” she attempted, but quickly realized he was right, she couldn’t. 

“No, you can’t.” His tone had lost its humor. “Where to?” He asked again, more forcefully this time

“Gimold, ehr, Grim…auld, number twelve,” she mumbled, face falling into the soft fabric covering his chest. She nuzzled against him until she felt his posture stiffen.

His voice was slightly unsteady when he uttered, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” and the green flames swallowed them whole. 

* * *

 

Once upstairs, Draco helped Hermione into her bathroom. 

He left her alone to change into nightclothes and use the lavatory. A few minutes later, he knocked to see if the coast was clear.

“Let’s get your face cleaned up,” he whispered, retrieving a makeup wipe, and crouching down in front of where she had settled herself on the warm floor. 

He wiped at her lipstick and mascara, carefully cleaning the traces of the night from her face. “Much better,” he stated when he finished. Hermione mumbled something back inaudibly. 

A tumbler of icy water was put in front of her and she picked it up, chugging the content. 

“Slowly,” Draco chided her. “Drink it slowly, okay?”

She nodded and put the glass down. After a moment, she picked it up again and drank the rest slowly. 

Once she finished, Draco plucked the glass from her weak fingers, setting it on the counter.

Strong hands lifted Hermione’s body from the floor — much like one would lift a toddler, gripping firmly under each arm. 

He half carried her into the bedroom and settled her on the bed before tucking her in. 

Hermione’s tired brown eyes looked up at Draco as he sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t w—want to be alone,” she told him in a quivering voice. “House’s too big…”

Draco chuckled. “I don’t have to go.” His voice was somber and the small smile he was giving her was kinder than any she’d ever seen on his face.

He summoned the large armchair from the corner of the room, and it came zooming towards him until it sat next to the bed. Settling himself into the chair, Draco conjured a thick blanket before slinging his legs up to rest on the end of the bed.

The room fell quiet. 

“Why are you still staying here?” He asked her after a moment. 

Hermione turned to her side, to study him. “Huh?” Her question sounded like a yawn. 

“Why are you staying here and not your own place?” His voice was quiet, barely audible.

“Can’t go back,” Hermione whispered, though there was a loudness to her statement. Whispers shouldn’t be that loud, should they?

Another silence followed. It felt pressing. She heard Draco shifting in his chair before he whispered, “Do you want to open your present?”

Hermione yawned. “I-I’d forgotten you gave me one,” she told him honestly.

“Here,” he extended the small box out to her and she sat up slightly in bed, undoing the bow. 

Inside the box, she found a silver instrument. “What’s—” Hermione began but he cut her off. 

“It’s a Sneakoscope,” Draco told her, matter-of-factly. “I thought it might help you feel safer after what happened.”

Hermione frowned at the instrument--it's shape resembled that of a spinning top.  

“If you don’t like it, you, you can return it.” Draco's voice was rushed and nervous. 

Hermione gave him a tired smile. “No, it’s—it’s perfect,” she told him as she slumped back down onto the mattress, fingers playing with the silver instrument. 

The Sneakoscope looked slightly different than the one Ron had gotten Harry, years ago. It looked expensive and, since it was a gift from Malfoy, she supposed it was. The metal was cool to the touch, a smooth silver. Runes were engraved along the edges of the scope, though Hermione could not decipher them in the barely lit room. Sighing, she placed the scope on her nightstand, snuggling back into her duvet. 

“Thank you, Draco.” There was genuine appreciation in her tone. 

Draco dimmed the light completely and neither of them spoke for a long time until, once again, he broke the silence. 

“Are you asleep? He asked her. 

Hermione smiled. “Not yet.” Her blurry eyes were glued on him. She wanted to see him. Wanted to see everything. The room was dark, lit only by the sliver of silver moonlight emitted by the window.

It was not enough.

“Did you enjoy your party?” He sounded like he really did want to know. 

She swallowed. “Yeah.” 

“Are you free tomorrow?”

She told him ‘yes’ through a soft sigh. 

He chuckled. “Let’s try something.” His statement was a question, and he sounded unsure.

“What?” Hermione queried, yawning.

“Let’s claim back your apartment.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Hermione’s mouth. “Let’s,” she agreed. She closed her eyes and drifted off while remembering the feel of Draco’s body against hers while they were dancing.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I hope you guys are ready for a new chapter! Today is our queen Hermione's birthday and to celebrate the occasion I decided to make some art for this chapter update! I hope you like both the chapter and the pics! As always, reviews are much appreciated!
> 
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)


	15. Home, Sweet Home

**Sunday 22th of September, 2002**

They walked towards the door together, both silent and in thought. 

In all actuality, it had been a quiet sort morning. 

When Hermione woke, she’d been surprised to discover that Draco was still asleep in her armchair. He’d looked so innocent in his slumber, his legs still propped up on her bedside, his mouth slightly open and his lashes quivering.

She’d touched his leg lightly, as he was blocking her way out of the bed, and he’d stirred. Grey eyes fluttered open and in a raspy voice he’d croaked out a greeting. 

“Are you hungover?” He’d asked. 

Hermione had nodded her head; it was pounding. “I’m grabbing a potion from the bathroom now. Do you want one?”

“Please.” He’d slumped back into the comfort of his chair. 

She’d gone to the bathroom, quickly relieving herself and grabbing the potions. 

Conjuring two glasses of water, she’d handed him one. 

“Would you like to go home?” Hermione had asked. 

“No, I want us to do what we planned.”

She’d nodded. 

After swallowing a potion each, they’d both showered, Draco using Harry and Ginny’s bathroom. 

His clothes smelled like they’d been  _ Scourgify-ed _ when he met up with her in the hall. 

Neither had wanted breakfast, both anxious to get going — to try — which led them to where they were standing now, in front of Hermione’s open front door. 

They entered slowly, Draco letting her lead. 

Hermione’s heart beat violently in her chest as her feet took them to the bedroom. She touched the wall just inside the door, fingers dragging across it. It felt dented, like the shadow of what had happened there had made a permanent imprint . This was the wall where Munter had held her captive — a captive in her own home. 

Her mind shifted, tumbled over, and it made her fall into a dark corner of her psyche as her pulse hammered and her breathing quickened. Her eyes snapped to Draco’s over her shoulder, and she watched him blur, fresh tears spilling out of her. 

Her tears fell down her cheeks and he watched, unmoving.

“Granger, come back to me,” he stated, voice soft. He did not reach out for her. Hermione realized she wanted him to. 

She kept her eyes on him while her world crumbled. The distant, broken look she gave him was haunting, comparable to a corpse's empty stare.

“Please, tell me you’re okay. Do you want to leave?” He sounded scared.

Hermione bowed her head, “I--I just need a mo-moment,” she stuttered. 

She turned her back to the wall and slid down it. 

“Can I sit down next to you?”

She bobbed her head ‘yes’.

He sat down, still not touching her. Hermione reached for him, for his hand. She held onto him with white knuckles and tired eyes. As they were sitting there, Hermione realized she was not trying to save him anymore. Their roles had switched and, in this moment, he was saving her, and she, she was trying to save herself too. 

After several minutes, her tears stopped flowing, but she did not let go of his hand. 

He looked at her, knowing the worst had passed. “Say something,” Draco encouraged. 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she told him.

He nodded, his gaze surveying the room around them. “Do you want to go?” He asked again. 

“No, I think I need to stay for a bit.”

* * *

 

They sat on the floor for a long time, until their muscles started cramping and they both grew restless. 

Hermione’s panic had calmed ages ago and she felt slightly sated. This was a large step in her recovery--an important step. She didn’t know yet how she would feel about being alone in the apartment, but right now, being there with him, she felt okay. 

Draco got to his feet, still holding Hermione’s hand, and he pulled her up to stand next to him.

“Hermione…” he uttered. His eyes seemed to be reaching out for her, searching. She stared back at him, questioning. After a moment he seemed to withdraw--didn’t seem to find what he was searching for, pulled back. 

She wasn’t finished yet, though. “Maybe we could cook something? Do something normal?” Hermione suggested. 

He gave her a shy smile. “That sounds alright.”

She led the way back to the kitchen and retrieved some pasta and a premade jar of tomato sauce from the cupboard over the sink. 

Hermione heated some water on the stove and poured the sauce into a saucepan to let it simmer. When the water boiled, she added salt and the spaghetti and started stirring the sauce.

Draco had settled himself on one of her kitchen chairs and watched her work. “Do you cook a lot?” He asked when the silence started to feel pressing. 

“This isn’t really cooking,” she told him, smiling. “I’m just heating stuff up.”

“But... Do you cook?”

“Sometimes,” she told him. “I’m not very good at it, though I have a few things I can make pretty well. Do you?”

He looked at her questioningly. 

“Do you cook?” Hermione clarified. 

He shook his head. “No one ever bothered showing me how.” He sounded slightly disappointed. 

“I’m sure you never needed to learn.”

He nodded. “The elves always took care of the cooking.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Do you have a lot of them?”

Draco nodded again. “Mother set them all free after the war, and some left, though a lot of them stayed too. We have about 12 now, and they all make wages.”

Her smile widened. “Your mother freed the elves? That doesn’t sound like something a pureblood would do.”

“I think you might be surprised if you got to know my mother,” he answered, smirking. 

* * *

 

They ate in front of the telly, an episode of  _ Heartbeat _ playing in the background. 

Once his bowl was empty, Draco turned to her with a shy expression painting his features. “Granger,” he began. “The other day, uhm... you were talking on a device. What was it?”

Hermione fished her phone out of her pocket. “It’s a mobile,” she told him. “It’s like a Floo-call, only you can carry it in your pocket and you can only hear the person, not see them.”

His fingers twitched to touch it and she handed him the Nokia. 

“Does it do other things too?” He asked, while his inquisitive fingers ran carefully over the device as though he was afraid to break it. 

Hermione wanted to laugh, if he only knew — Nokias were indestructible. 

“You can play games on it,” she told him, setting her half-eaten bowl of spaghetti on the coffee table to help him turn the mobile on, and that’s how Draco Malfoy ended up playing Snake on Hermione’s Nokia for nearly an hour. 

“It’s like this game was made for me. It’s even called  _ Snake _ ,” he drawled, pressing the buttons to make the digital worm switch directions. 

Hermione laughed. He was surprisingly good at the game, though it had obviously  taken him a few tries to figure it out. 

“If you like it so much, you should get a phone of your own,” she smiled. “We could call each other if you had one.”

His concentration wavered from the game, causing the snake to eat its own tail. 

“Shit!” He exclaimed, tossing the phone down on the couch. It bounced off the cushion before landing on the floor. He dove after it. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t think it’s broken,” he looked back up at her. 

She was laughing hysterically — his face was a picture to behold.

“It’s not that bloody funny,” he grumbled, settling himself on the couch once more. When she continued giggling he ignored it. “So, what did you say about me getting a… ehr… morbile.”

Hermione managed to calm down. “Mobile,” she corrected and he rolled his eyes at her. “I said we could call each other, if you got one.”

His face lit up and he chuckled. “I’d like that,” he told her. “It sounds like a good incentive.” 

* * *

 

**Monday 23rd of September, 2002**

After finishing up at the apartment the previous day, Hermione had gone to see Finn. The session had been much the same as her first one, except the waiting room had been open when she’d arrived this time. Draco had walked her to the Thought Villa, having an appointment of his own. They’d parted ways in the entrance hall, agreeing to meet up after her Wednesday shift for an evening chat. 

Hermione had spent much of the night before her Monday shift thinking about what this might entail. She didn’t finish work till eleven, meaning it would be pretty late when they met up. She figured he might want her company or to play more Snake on her phone, perhaps, though something told her it might be more than that. 

That morning, when Pucey entered the locker room, he was positively glowing with mirth. It was an odd expression for him, considering the early hour. 

Christina was hot on his heels, having gotten into work late. She looked slightly flustered, cheeks rosy and hair slightly askew. 

They both donned their robes, and once everybody had settled down, Pucey began speaking. “I come bearing news,” he stated, sounding smug. “Apparently, there has been a bit of an outbreak of Sexual Transmitted Jinxes at Hogwarts this term, and the Headmistress has requested we to go to the castle on Wednesday to teach the students a few... shall we say… biology classes.” His gaze flickered to the left, where Christina was tying her hair back. 

Nott laughed out loud. “We have to teach them about sex?” He asked between fits of giggles. 

Pucey grinned back. “Safe sex,” he clarified. “Now, as we all know, sex ed at Hogwarts is sorely lacking, meaning we have to cover the basics in our course.” He paused for a minute. “I know this is an awkward subject to cover, at least for the those of us who grew up in a pureblood household where these things are not talked about. But we are offering a public service by educating these children.” 

By the way Pucey spoke, it was clear he’d gotten an earful from Smethwyck about taking the class seriously. 

He continued speaking. “Spinnet’s group will be talking to the three lower years, while we get the privilege of teaching the fourth through seventh years, meaning most of the sex portion of the curriculum is left to us.”

Theo attempted to whisper something to Christina and Pucey broke them off. “No talk unless it’s medical!” He said sternly, making Theo roll his eyes. 

With a huff, Pucey continued. “Now, we are being asked to host an all-day lesson, and I want us to plan out how we want to tackle this today.”

The trainees nodded in agreement. 

“I think it’s best if we start the day with three or four presentations. The first could be a general biology class, the second a class about puberty, and the third should be about STJs, safe sex and contraception.” 

“I think we should talk about rape and sexual harassment, as well,” Christina suggested. 

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. “That’s a good idea,” she said, and Pucey sent her a pitiful look. She averted her eyes, embarrassed. 

“After lunch, I think it would be beneficial to allow the students to ask anonymous questions,” Rolf piped up. 

“Great!” Pucey smiled. 

They continued planning out the day in detail. 

After the school day ended, they would eat dinner with the staff before relocating to the hospital wing. There, they would offer help to anyone who needed medical attention or simply wanted someone to talk to. They would be there till ten and then have a debriefing with McGonagall.

The courses before lunch would be taught by the trainees. Hermione was set to teach the class on biology, Rolf the puberty one. Theo would teach the sex class and Christina would tackle the class on consent. Pucey himself would mostly be there as a supervisor, helping them along if they ran into any trouble. 

The trainees went on to do rounds and, before long, they were all separated throughout the hospital. 

Hermione went to the first floor to check pupil reflexes for Mr. Mopsus ,the man who’d come in with cutlery stuck in his head before heading to the skills lab on the third floor.

Elias Mopsus had been in the hospital for an entire month and was still not completely recovered. The damage to his optic nerve had been so severe healer Wainscott wasn’t sure he’d ever gain full sight back. Mopsus’ wife, who’d caused the injury, had started taking anger management classes to deal with her grumpiness, though it was clear by both her and Elias’ statement that the whole ordeal had been an accident. 

Hermione chuckled while thinking about the odd couple. 

Once she reached the skills lab, she sat down at one of the desks and started preparing her biology presentation. She was very happy with the subject she’d gotten. It was more straightforward than the others and would likely prompt less awkward questions. After an hour, Theo came to join her.

“Have you gotten far?” He asked, yawning. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty much done,” she told him. “I was able to find a few projector charms to better show the anatomy.”

“God, you got the easy part!” complained Theo. “I have to talk about sex, and I’m not excited about this at all.”

Hermione nodded. Theo had grown up in a strict, pureblood household with only his father as company. She was sure he’d probably never received a valuable sex-talk from his Death Eater father. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Her tone sounded was less certain than she’d like. “I can help you prepare if you want,” she offered as consolation. 

He scoffed. “You don’t know how to talk about sex,” he told her, though there was none of the usual humour in his tone. 

Hermione swallowed audibly. “I might be helpful, even if I don’t have a lot of hands-on experience,” she told him sternly.

He seemed to realise that he’d offended her, and they fell quiet for a while. Hermione pretended to pour over her parchment. 

“Why is that?” He suddenly asked, and her eyes flashed up at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you have a lot of ‘hands-on experience’, as you put it?”

Hermione pondered. She didn’t know what to tell him. “Are you asking if I’m a virgin?” She intoned instead of answering his query. 

He flushed. “What even is virginity,” he scoffed. “As a queer person, I never understood the concept. I mean, are you a virgin till you penetrate someone or have someone penetrate you? How do you measure virginity?”

Hermione gave him a small smile. “Maybe you could include that in your presentation,” she suggested. 

“Yeah, that might be interesting.” 

She smiled. "I think the only way to go about is to give them the talk you wish you'd been given when you were a teen."

He nodded, seeming lost in thought already. Picking up a quill and parchment and started making notes. 

Hermione looked down onto her own presentation. “I am,” she told him after a long time. 

He looked up at her. “What?” 

“A virgin,” she clarified. ”I am a virgin.”

He nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he told her. “I do wonder why, though. You were never ugly, and you’re brilliantly smart, and quite fun. I mean, why haven't you?”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened at his praise. “I was never considered much of a girl in school,” she tried to explain. “I mean, I was one of the boys and being treated as one made me feel… I don’t know.” She brushed the feathered end of her quill across her lips, while looking into his brown eyes. 

“Then came the war,” Theo supplied and she nodded. 

“Yes, then the war came and went, and I honestly didn’t dedicate any thoughts to it during that time... After, well, things weren’t any easier. A lot had happened and I wasn’t in any kind of state to jump into a relationship. Then I moved to Italy and I just didn’t date while I lived there. I dedicated my time to becoming the best healer I could be.”

“You’re a great healer,” he told her. “But you seem lonely, too.”

Hermione looked away. “I’m trying to heal,” she replied. “I’m trying to better myself, and feel better about myself, and maybe, when I meet someone I want to sleep with, I’ll be ready.”

“I see that you’re trying,” he smiled. “And anyway, there's no rush!”

She clasped his hand across the table.

* * *

 

**Tuesday 24th of September, 2002**

Hermione went to the nursing home to see her mother after her shift at the hospital ended. 

The girl at the reception desk greeted her with a smile and she was directed to the sun lounge where her mother sat reading. 

“Hermione, darling,” Cordelia exclaimed when she caught sight of her daughter, making Hermione’s step falter. 

She remembered — her mother remembered her. 

Hermione gave her mum a shaky hug, and then excused herself to visit the restroom. She didn’t know how to feel. 

She stayed in the bathroom for several minutes until her mother came knocking on the stall. Her eyes were searching when Hermione opened the door. 

Cordelia was wearing a jacket of worries and stood staring at her daughter intently. “Did you sleep alright?” she asked, allowing Hermione to walk past her to get to the sink. “You look tired.”

“I just finished a thirty hour shift.”

Looking at her in the mirror, her mother continued asking questions. “Are you hungry? You’ve gotten so thin.” She put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder — it was heavier than concrete. “What’s that spot on your jumper?” She licked her finger and started rubbing at the spot. ”Is that powdered sugar?” She was still rubbing. 

“Don’t,” Hermione told her. 

They made it back out to the table her mother had vacated.

“So how are you?” 

Her mother smiled. “I’m alright today,” she said while cutting a cinnamon roll in half. “It’s nice to share something, don’t you agree?” 

Hermione nodded and looked to the ground. The carpet was full of commitments and the ceiling rafters hung heavy with blame. 

_ Their meeting reminded Hermione of the time they had carried a large cabinet together, one step at a time. Her mother had been complaining. “We should have emptied it,” she’d said. “We can’t possibly carry a cupboard that’s full.” But that’s what they’d done. They’d lifted the wardrobe between themselves and carried it. Hermione had been pretty sure she bore the heaviest part.  _

_ In her youth, they’d owned this weight together though, and every argument had been a joined project. ‘Carrying a heavy load makes you strong,’ her mother used to tell her when she was younger, but Hermione didn't feel strong. She just felt tired.  _

“I don’t want to be a burden, darling.” Cordelia’s voice tore through her reveries. Hermione shook her head. 

“You aren’t,” she stated. 

Their lunch proceeded in quiet conversation. Before long, Cordelia slipped back into her state of unknowing. Hermione could pinpoint the moment where her mother's eyes had flashed, signaling she forgot she had a daughter. 

“When will Wendell be here?” Cordelia asked.

“He couldn’t make it today.” Hermione’s voice sounded flat and she wanted to sob. She felt as though she’d wasted the time they’d had together, when her mother was actually present, lost in her own melancholy. 

Hermione left not long after. 

Once back at Grimmauld, she fell onto the mattress. For a moment, she wished someone was there to tuck her into bed, or hold her, or value her. She wanted someone to validate her in ways she was not being validated, love her in ways she was not. 

But... she didn’t have anyone like that. Not a mother or a father or a lover. Her mattress felt hard, filled with the missed opportunities and memories of the people she had lost. Wishing for someone to love her was getting her nowhere.. Hermione closed her eyes and fell asleep, alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves! I'm so humbled by the respons I got to the pics I made for the last chapter, both her, on Facebook and on Tumblr. You motivate me to continue! As always, my Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), and she is awesome!
> 
> I have to take another week off, with school and work being rather busy lately. I'm sorry. The next update will be posted October 3rd.
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)


	16. Nighthawks

I want love, but it's impossible

A girl like me, so irresponsible

A girl like me is dead in places

Other girls feel liberated

I can't love, shot full of holes

Don't feel nothing, I just feel cold

Don't feel nothing, just old scars

Toughening up around my heart

\- Elton John (I want love)

* * *

 

**Wednesday, 25th of September, 2002**

The trainees met up outside The Three Broomsticks at the brink of dawn. 

It was a clear morning, and they wandered up towards the castle in comfortable silence. The grounds were quiet, except for the sound of their trudging feet and the waking birds, chirping in the morning light. 

The sun was rising over the Black Lake casting the grounds in beautiful orange hues. 

As they walked by the lake, one red tentacle breached the surface, making the still water ripple. It looked like the giant squid was waving at them — wishing them a warm welcome to the place they’d called home, once upon a time. 

Christina, the only one in their group who had not gone to Hogwarts, looked on in awe. Her eyes were shining,  while she surveyed the breathtaking scenery. 

Hermione remembered how baffled she herself had been the first time she’d seen the castle. She couldn't wait to see Christina's reaction at the enchanted ceiling. 

Mr. Filch met them at the large oak doors leading into the castle, guiding them through the entrance hall and opening the double doors that led to the Great Hall. 

Once inside, Hermione could hear a gasp from behind her. Christina had stopped in her tracks, ogling the ceiling which displayed the morning sun they’d just left behind. “Where’s the roof?” The American exclaimed making the rest of the group chuckle. 

It was just the sort of reaction Hermione had wanted. Turning around, she smiled at the other witch. “It's not real, the ceiling. It's just bewitched to look like the sky. You can read about it in _Hogwarts: A History!_ ” She told Christina, who looked dumbfounded. 

“After today, I might just do that,” the raven-haired girl teased Hermione, grinning.

Filch guided them to a room located behind the staff table. It was the same room where the Triwizard champions had gathered during fourth year. “Breakfast will be served in a half hour. The headmistress told me to say you are welcome to join us for the meal,” he said before heading out.

Setting their bags on the floor, the trainees shrugged out of their outer robes and put on their lime green healer ones. Pucey and Spinnet held a short briefing while the rest of the group gathered their notes and supplies. 

Spinnet’s group, which only contained three years of students instead of four, were to be gathered in the library, while Pucey’s trainees were holding their lessons in the Great Hall. 

The trainees re-entered the hall which now smelled of all kinds of breakfast foods. 

Hermione caught sight of the headmistress and made a beeline for the older woman.  

“Miss Granger!” McGonagall exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?” She wrapped Hermione in a fierce embrace. 

Hermione smiled. “I’m alright, Professor. How are you?”

“Well, I’ve run into much less trouble now that Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter and yourself have left the premises,” McGonagall jested. “In all actuality, Hermione, I am quite alright. However, I hope the school gets this STJ problem under control soon, it’s been driving poor Pomfrey slightly mad.”

Hermione nodded. “Well, that’s what we’re here to help with.”

* * *

 

Hermione stood on a podium in front of hundreds of school children to begin her presentation. She was the first to speak, and so far, the room had erupted in nervous giggles more than once. She’d covered the male anatomy and was waving her wand at a diagram, showing a woman’s nether regions.

“In fact, when in the womb, it is the clitoris that develops and becomes the male penis.”

A Ravenclaw boy interrupted her speech. “So, you mean to tell me that in reality, all girls have a mini penis?” 

Some students fell into stifled giggles until another boy spoke up. “Are you trying to figure out your gender, McLaggen?” 

At his comment, the entire room erupted with laughter, making the first speaker, McLaggen, flush scarlet. 

Hermione had to stifle a smile of her own and she could hear Nott rumbling behind her. 

When the room quieted down, Hermione continued. “The clitoris is the female pleasure center. It is kind of like an iceberg, as most of it is inside of the body. The head of the penis, which is very sensitive, has between six and eight thousand nerve endings, and the same goes for the very tip of the clitoris.”

Hermione pointed at the diagram, to show what a clitoris looked like on the inside. 

Some of the students gasped.

“As you can see,” Hermione explained while prodding the projection, “The clitoris reaches back, in a v-shape to surround the vagina. The vagina itself doesn’t have a lot of nerve endings, so the pleasure one can feel there comes from internal clitoral stimuli.”

A hand shot into the air, but Pucey interrupted before Hermione could call on the girl. “All questions will be answered after lunch,” he stated sternly, and the hand retreated. 

Hermione finished up her presentation, and they took a fifteen-minute break before it was Rolf’s turn to be on the podium. 

His presentation went less than flawlessly, as he had to shed his robes at one point, his face boiling over with a scarlet blush while talking about menstruation. It was ridiculous how embarrassed grown men could get by the mention of the M-word. 

Theo impressed with his presentation, talking in detail about both Muggle and magical contraception. 

He told the masses about the most common Sexual Transmitted Jinxes in wizarding society such as _Impediment-anus_ , which stopped you from relieving yourself till the jinx was removed, and _E-bubli-orifice_ which made bubbles, filled with pink pus, erupt from all orifices, including your ears, at steady intervals.

“Those with the male anatomy,” Theo droned, when getting to the portion about disfiguration charms. “might think it a grand idea to use an engorgement charm on certain parts of your body.” He waved a lazy hand in the general direction of his crotch. “If you would like to avoid a trip to the hospital wing, I’d advise against it.”

The older students roared with hefty laughter at this, while some of the fourth and fifth years looked terrified.

When he finished, Theo received a standing ovation, to which he bowed. 

Christina talked in length about consent, including a section on love potions and why they should be illegal. Many of the students faces grew white while she spoke about rape and what to do following an assault. It seemed like the student body was finally taking the St. Mungo’s healers seriously. 

“We encourage everyone to spend the next twenty minutes writing down any questions you might have,” Pucey told the students once Christina had finished. 

Picking up a silver goblet from the staff table, Pucey transfigured it into a large mailbox. “Put your pieces of parchment in the box and we will review everything after lunch,” he finished.  

The students got to work. Some shielded their parchment from prying eyes, looking nervous, while others discussed their questions openly, sending their notes around before coming up to the podium to drop their questions into the box.  

* * *

 

Once lunch had been devoured, a lovely meal of shepherd's pie courtesy of the Hogwarts elves, the trainees began answering questions.

Some of the questions were, to Hermione’s surprise, extremely embarrassing. She entertained the idea of _Bombarda_ -ing her way through the castle wall rather than answering on more than one occasion, though luckily, she was never forced to speak, as Christina and Theo handled the worst of it. 

The Great Hall was filled with nervous energy emitted by the students. It was a shame sex ed was such an embarrassment for everyone involved. It was an important subject. 

Pucey plucked another piece of parchment from the letterbox. “Why do people have sex when it’s so hard?” 

“Are we talking about two blokes, because I could help with that,” Theo joked and Hermione shook her head. Pucey glared at him. 

Christina piped up. “Sex isn’t that complicated. As long as you are comfortable with the person you are having it with, it should be pretty straightforward.” 

Pucey agreed. “Sex is less hard if you talk about it. Be forward with what you want, and listen to your partner.” He seemed to eye Christina when he said this, and Hermione wondered if there was some hidden innuendo she was missing out on.

More questions were asked. 

“Is wanking bad?”

“What do I do if my partner doesn't want to use protection?”

“Are magazines like Playwizard and HotHags considered dirty?” 

Most of the questions seemed to be morally motivated. 

“What does semen taste like? And what does a vagina taste like?” Pucey read.

 _Finally_ , a textbook answer. Hermione spoke up. “Semen tastes a bit salty while a vagina is a bit tangy. But everyone will taste slightly different, just as everyone smells a bit different.” There was a hum in the room, as people processed what she’d said. 

Pucey continued. “What do you do if you have a boner and you’re asked to stand up in class?” The room lit up in a sea of sniggers.

Hermione had never thought about that dilemma before. How awkward and embarrassing. She thanked the gods that she’d been born female even if it meant bleeding once a month. To have someone know when you were turned on —  that sounded like hell. 

“The best way to deal with an unwanted erection,” Rolf began, “is to think of something unpleasant. A Blast-Ended Skrewt usually does the trick.” Some students laughed, though others still looked nervous. “And if that doesn’t work, you can always politely excuse yourself.”

Pucey chuckled, picking the last piece of parchment from the letterbox. “Is it weird if I don’t want to have sex?” He read out loud. 

Hermione sought out Theo’s eyes. “It’s perfectly normal!” He answered. “Some people never have sexual feelings, others simply don’t feel ready.”

“Being ready depends from person to person,” Hermione supplied. “Some people feel ready for sex when in their teens, others don’t.”

Christina nodded. “If you don’t want to have sex, or don’t feel ready for sex, then that’s your choice.” 

There were murmurs in the hall as the trainees wrapped up the class. Dinner would begin shortly, and they informed the students that they could be reached in the hospital wing until curfew fell that night. 

* * *

 

Hermione headed to the bathroom with Christina in tow. 

Curfew had just fallen and they were finished for the day, minus the debriefing with McGonagall. Some students had come to visit during their time in the hospital wing to ask more questions, mostly about contraception. 

Hermione had taught several couples the contraceptive charm and how to look for the sign that the indication had worked. She hoped they would remember how to do it correctly even when drowned in hormones and lust. 

While Christina peed, Hermione plucked a tube of mascara from her pocket and started applying it to her eyelashes. 

“Hot date after the shift?” Christina asked as she came up to the sink and started washing her hands.

Hermione’s cheeks tinted. “No, I’m just meeting a friend,” she tried to clarify. 

Christina didn’t look like she believed her. “That’s a lot of mascara for a friend,” she noted dryly before heading out of the bathroom.

* * *

 

Draco was waiting for her when Hermione exited St. Mungo’s.

Walking for a bit, they’d ended up sitting down at a greasy spoon. Most places were closed this late and Draco wanted food. He wrinkled his nose at her choice of establishment, but did not complain. 

Hermione had to hide her smile at his distaste. He caught her, rolling his eyes at her reaction. 

Draco seemed quiet as they waited for the food, lost in thought, which made Hermione nervous. The tension between them grew until their meal was set down in front of them by a waitress.

Draco cleared his throat. “Did I ever tell you how sorry I am about what happened to you?” He asked her, studying his salad. “Or how sorry I am in general.”

Hermione twisted in her seat. “Please don’t bring it up,” she told him, clenching her jaw. “You don’t have to worry about me. Really. You’re the only one that doesn’t ask me if I’m alright all the time, you just, you just treat me normally. And I like that.”

Draco looked genuinely chastened at her words, and it didn’t suit him at all. He was studying her with a stoic mask, his face lean, all planes and angles. Lily-white skin stretched over the sharp bones of his features. 

“I have to say it,” he uttered. “I mean, my therapist is talking to me about making amends with the past, and we never really talked about how I treated you before.”

Hermione gave him a shy smile. “You’ve made up for it,” she told him, believing every word she spoke. 

Taking a sip from his water, Draco cleared his throat. “I just wish...” he began, but cut himself off. He seemed to change direction mid sentence and started spewing some bullshit about how he wished he’d ordered the soup too. 

Hermione studied him while he babbled. Interrupting him, she said, “Draco, what you thought first, I wish that too!”

She could make out his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

Picking up her spoon, Hermione started on her soup, ignoring his gaze. 

Malfoy still didn’t avert his eyes — they were glued to her. “Did you like him?”

“Who?”

“The one you went on that date with. The one that attacked you.”

The spoon halted to a stop on its journey to her mouth. “Not really,” she stammered.

“Then why did you say yes to going on a date with him?” He still hadn’t touched his meal. Dressing glistened on the overcooked chicken of his Caesar salad. 

“I don’t know.” Hermione paused and sighed. Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain. “Look, I know this will sound stupid, but I’m genuinely afraid that no one is ever going to like me enough to be with me. I don’t know where it comes from, I just feel as though there’s a seed planted inside me that tells me to be cautious, tells me to always have backup plans and be prepared to be lonely forever.” He didn’t say anything, which caused her to continue. “There are so many things that are wrong with me, I mean, if I was a dog, I’d have been put down a long time ago—"

He broke her off. “That’s a sick thing to say about yourself!”

The fact that Draco Malfoy would chastise her for speaking negatively about herself was slightly hilarious, Hermione thought, considering their history and how much time he had spent picking on her in their youth. She chuckled and he glared. 

Hermione tried to think of a response, anything at all, but the intensity of his grey eyes left her voiceless. She felt as though she was a pre-schooler in the midst of a staring contest. 

She broke their gaze first. 

“I don’t know what to tell you. I just … It felt nice to be considered as attractive enough to take out. It was more the action of the gesture than the person asking. It felt nice to be considered worthy of seduction. That’s why I said yes.”

He pondered for a beat. “Is that what you want, Granger?” Malfoy asked. “You want to be seduced?”

Hermione’s eyes snapped back to his, her answer caught in her throat, leaving her mute. 

They were sitting at odd angles, bodies turned towards each other on the L-shaped couch.  

“It’s okay if that’s what you want, you know. You have a right to want that.”

Still, she stayed quiet. 

Draco scooted a bit closer. “Personally,” he drawled. “I think any man should look upon it as a privilege to be allowed to seduce someone like you.”

Hermione shook her head. _What was he doing?_

Her brown eyes never drifted from his as he moved ever closer — slowly, as though she was a wounded animal, afraid she might lash out if he moved too quickly. 

Before long, he was close enough for their knees to brush, only inches away, breathing the same air. 

Hermione did not move away from him, she was frozen, and a chill ran down her spine.

“If it had been me in that situation, taking you out, walking you home, wanting to kiss you, I would have asked first.” He waited a beat, his confident tone faltering slightly. “Can I kiss you?” 

Hermione froze. _Was this a test? Did he know how she felt about him? Was he doing it to be nice, in a reaction to the words she’d spoken only minutes prior?_

“Wha-at?” she stammered, gawking at him like a goldfish. 

Draco repeated his question. His voice was still even, though his eyes were filled with worry. 

Hermione nodded at him, before even thinking about it. She felt dumbfounded — completely under his spell. 

He cleared his throat. “If you’d said yes to it, which you just did, I would start slow, somewhere soft, like your neck perhaps.” He brought his hand up and curled it around her nape, thumb slowly caressing the side of her throat. He lifted his other hand and slowly, though purposefully, skimmed his fingertip along the tender skin next to her pulse point. 

Hermione’s body shook and hummed. She stayed completely still, watching him slowly caress her. 

_Was this real? Where had it come from?_

Draco moved closer still, exquisitely slow. He was giving her every opportunity to back away. His eyes were on fire, liquid silver swirling around like two great pools, daring her to take the leap. 

Hermione closed her eyes. 

“Mind if I taste you?” He asked her. His voice had changed, grown softer, sweeter, like the morning after a long cry, when your head still hurt but your heart was no longer broken. She opened her mouth, caught her breath, inhaled deeply.

“Okay,” she stuttered, allowing him permission. 

As her eyes fluttered open, she saw Draco dipping his head. His nose brushed along her collar bone. He breathed her in, nose trailing upwards slowly, following the trails his fingers had left behind. 

Softly, he touched his lips to her skin, kissing the point in her neck where her pulse was hammering an unfamiliar tattoo. 

He trailed soft kisses from her neck to her jaw, tongue darting out to taste her tender skin. Hermione’s breathing was erratic, and she felt slightly embarrassed at the violent gusts of air she kept inhaling. 

“You’re exquisite. You’re worthy. Please know that!” He begged her. His lips were ghosting along her jaw, moving towards her lips. 

Finally, unable to stand the small distance between their bodies, Hermione unfroze and moved closer, putting her hand on his hip, just as he made it all the way to her mouth. For a moment, he lingered at the corner, nearly touching. 

“Please,” Hermione whispered, her word ghosting against his mouth, making him inhale the spoken plea. It was like something snapped inside him. As his lips moved that last inch, she melted against him, her body going slack. The kiss was gentle, barely begun. 

Hermione returned his kiss. With her free hand, she pushed him gently back against the backrest of the booth. They were gathered in the corner together. His mouth moved with hers, his hands on her waist, following the gentle sway and curve of her tiny body, though never traveling further, never exploring too much. 

He kissed her as though the sensation found on her lips was the answer for every question he’d ever thought to ask. 

Hermione’s fingers tangled into his hair and she drew him closer. He nipped at her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to let him in, making the kiss grow bruising. It seemed as though nothing could quell their shared hunger. 

Their tongues brushed together, soft flesh melting into one, to a point where it was hard to decipher where his kiss began and hers ended. She did not know how long they sat there, slowly devouring one another, snogging sinfully. 

She’d craved this kiss, she realized. She’d wanted it more than she could have ever known. This kiss made her want him in the way a girl wants a boy, deep inside her soul, her bones, her flesh. She wanted him to stretch her out and claim her as his own. 

Far too soon, Draco pulled away, maybe realizing the fact that they were in public. 

“That’s how you deserve to be kissed,” he told her, voice hoarse. “Anyone lucky enough to lay their lips on yours should give you that. Nobody should be allowed to take advantage of you.”

At his words, Hermione found herself nodding, head bobbing like a dog on a dashboard. 

Draco pulled away further, past his uneaten salad. He got up from the booth and left without another word. 

Hermione was left gaping after him, slumping back into her seat. One hand came up to her face, fingers brushing her swollen lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I really, really hope you guys enjoyed this update. As life gets more and more busy with the ongoing semester of uni and work, I have to start updating bi-weekly rather than every week. I'm sorry about this. Next update will be the 31th. As always, I'm a whore for comments! Please share your thoughts/questions etc with me <3
> 
> My Beta is [PotionChemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist), she is awesome!
> 
> PS.  
> Check me out on [Tumbr ](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)at [pureprose.tumblr.com](https://pureprose.tumblr.com)


End file.
